


Our Winter Hearts

by LazyWriter1977



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriter1977/pseuds/LazyWriter1977
Summary: Wolves howl in the night as Winter approaches. Amidst the chaos nursed by the War of Five Kings, Sansa Stark and Jon Snow fight to take back the North and recover their family. As the nights grow darker there must be a Stark in Winterfell once more.





	1. SANSA

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of these characters and universe belongs to me...  
> Hello there, I'm new to Ao3 but not new to fanfiction.  
> This story is currently been published under my account of FFnet as well, and I hope everyone gets to like it.  
> Currently it is a fix from season 6, however I'll march onwards and make it a full AU in relation to the show as the story moves on, mostly though, for some time I felt this pull to explore the character GRRM created, and this is just me trying to have fun with it.  
> Do not look to me for bashing, or any of the sort, whatever I write its simply my sincere take on the characters and what makes them interesting and rich.  
> Thanks for reading, please review and I hope you like it.  
> Warning: I did this before, but I feel the need to put it forth as well, this story has a similar beginning to another fic called the The Winter Queen and the Black Dragon, however I assure this is just a coincidence and had I intended for my story to go through similar roots I wouldn't have published.

PART 1: A PACK OF TWO

SANSA

The trees of the woods were dark against the white and atop, in the skies above, the night ruled everything in beautiful shades of blue, of stars and moon and white grounds.

The world, she knew, sometimes would try to look pretty, try to seem magical or even peaceful, but as her horse trotted the way towards the top of the hill, she knew, deep inside, that it was a lie, a beautiful lie for sure, sweet and tempting, but a lie all the same.

She had fallen for that lie once.

Her younger dreams had been raised by it, driving forth by Old Nan's tales of heroism, the Last Hero riding forth against the Long Night, Symeon Star-Eyes and Jonquil and Florian and for the first time the heroes enchanted her. Once she learned her letters, she started to see the books as well and read the real stories of great knights and their loves. Of great maids rescued and kissed under glorious banners and colors and songs.

She read about all of them, in between her lessons of heraldry, history and courtesy there were the dragons, and great names like Eryk and Aryk, Ser Arthur Dayne, Aemon the Dragonknight, and his love for his sister Naerys who was made to marry Aegon the Unworthy.

Mostly sad songs, but sad in a way of beauty.

Her own sadness had none of that, at least it felt nothing like that.

Of course she had been driven by other songs, song of courts, gallantry and knighthood. Songs of love and great glory and as she learned from Septa Mordane how be a wife and a lady, she dreamed of her husband and her future. When Joffrey came, he was beautiful in her eyes as a prince, a true prince, taking her to be his queen. She would ride with him and they would rule together, and she would give him many male heirs and make him happy.

She wanted love and colors and summer winds touching her skin, and she would ride away in the trails of love and blossoming passion, where everything was beautiful and pretty and good.

Those southern dreams had a cost though.

How ironic that her deepest wish now was going as far north as possible as fast as she could?

Jon…

The name was and old hymn, plead and a prayer all at once as Sansa stopped her tired mount atop the hill. She was afraid, she was tired, she wanted to cry in relief and sob in despair, but she couldn't do any of those or else she would be lost.

By her side she could hear another horse coming, Brienne's horse, for her safety the woman, had told her after she finally convinced them she would not rest until she reached Jon.

Save him…

She could still hear Bran's voice in her head as the woods parted and closed, and parted and the snow was crushed under the roofs of her mount.

She had been only seeking Theon out, talking to him to see where he wanted to go from now, but instead she found him laughing and mumbling before a lonely weirwood tree. She feared he had grown crazy then, that Ramsay had finally broken him and just when he was free, but his mumbles turned to words and she heard him madly calling her brother's name.

From there everything felt like a blur.

Her brother's face was suddenly there in the pale wood, crying red tears from three eyes deep with knowledge and anger and longing.

Sansa… He had whispered, like the rustling of leaves, soft as the wind. Jon… save him. And then it was as if she saw him, her brother, the half brother, the one she had never truly known beyond the sullen brooding lad. Her brother and her family, the family she felt distant and lost like a hole in her life, a pity increasing in depth and sorrow and despair, and there he was, bleeding in the snow.

Ghost.

He whispered to the skies.

Save him. Bran urged one last time before she woke up to Brienne's desperate calls, shaking her shoulders and she realized it was a dream just as the dream became more and more real and Bran called to her faintly still. Instead of assuring the lady she was fine and well, instead of asking water for her dry throat, she spoke loud and clear with the shock fresh in her mind.

"I have to reach Castle Black now."

It took her some time to finally convince them she was serious in her haste. There was no argument, she knew that dream couldn't be a lie, it couldn't, because Theon was looking at her knowingly and Sansa felt it.

A pain similar to when Lady left her forever, something been cut from her like all the times she felt herself losing a part of her family. Her Father, her mother, brother… Her name… It was too much, but now, now she could save him.

Jon…

Thinking of him still made her jerk and a cold hand to grip her heart, but she kept going. Brienne would only allow her to go with protection, so she left Theon and Podrick behind and they now rode until finally seeing the Wall before them, its pale shape massive, almost taking Sansa's breath away in the darkness. It was the hour of the wolf but the Wall was still a sight, disappearing in the shadows on both horizons of the world like a pale cold blade piercing the darkness, and in its feet a faint orange glow burned.

Fire.

Sansa blinked back tears and spurred her horse forward.

For a long time she had thought of vengeance, of justice for her family. For all the death and tragedy and pain she suffered, from the day's cage she found herself in King's Landing to the nightly horrors Ramsay had put her through, but now. Now she felt hope, hope because she could do something more, she wouldn't be alone, she had to save him…

Jon.

He was the first, she would have him, she would… Please wait a little longer, please.

Her body hurt all over from bruises old and new, her legs were cramped, her back was killing her but Sansa, who never liked riding, raced down the hill, hearing the screams of sentries as her horse stopped before the gates, panting and ruffling on its feet.

"Let me in!" She yelled, feeling like tears were coming down her eyes, the glow was still there above the walls.

Save him.

She would.

The gates opened slowly, too slowly, and Sansa stepped forward immediately, ignoring the bearded face beside her. Another man tried to grab her, but Brienne was there, shoving him aside as she ran inside the courtyard only to gasp at the sight.

There was fire.

A massive crowd with torches was gathered around a pile of firewood that was catching fire slowly, their gazes meeting her, but her blues eyes had only one thing in mind. One thing only. Save him, Bran had said and she felt her world breaking yet again.

He was there, his body, lying above the pyre, smoke already rising as the fire caught. No, no, no… It's not, It's not… Jon…

She pushed forward, Brienne at her side, pulling her cloak away, blue wool and warm.

"Wait!" Someone tried to stop her, but them a white form stepped forward, barring teeth with red eyes blazing. Her hands grabbed Jon's arm and pulled, he had to get away, away from the fire. Please, she pulled again and he moved but just a little, and then Brienne was there, and she was stronger, taking him away from the fire and down to the snow.

"Jon!" She gasped. "Jon! Please!"

Hot tears were burning down her eyes as she stared at him, pale, eyes closed. No, no, no, no… Please no… She begged, not sure to whom. She felt eyes and shadows around, a bearded man and a red woman, a dull looking one in Black and another one, big and ragged. "Stay away from my family!" She said, hearing another bare of teeth.

Ghost, he was there, he was there.

The wolf met her eyes and his were red and knowing. Suddenly he was by her side and she felt herself breaking into a sob that was a laugh for everything was pain, everything hurt, her world was gone but not anymore. Please… Just hang on… She thought, looking down at him, she brushed the hair away from his face.

Jon.


	2. THE DEAD WOLF

THE DEAD WOLF

Ghost.

He was in darkness.

In a moment he felt the life draining from him as his last breaths clung to the shreds that kept his conscience alight, the skies seemed to gaze down upon him. The eyes of the Ice Dragon were like blue fire piercing the clouded sky, until a cloak of shadows seemed to fall over his vision.

It could well have been the blink of an eye or an eternity, and he wouldn't have known. There was only him and nothing, and darkness, caring like a mother's hug, taking the weight of the world from out of his shoulders.

The shadows made everything okay. So he let himself there, listening to muffle songs of dead pasts, he was dozy and they were sending him to sleep.

Next time I see you, you will be all in black.

Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother…

Laughter echoes from all around him, breathless with childhood dreams, entangled into stone walls proper for climbing and wooden swords, playful and safe.

Stick them with the pointy end.

Suddenly he felt like crying, but he knew nothing of how to do it. Tears would not come, the darkness was not soothing anymore, instead it felt more like a prison and the sounds of a distant feast were far away and close, just beyond a door, yet when his hand reached out to open it, it came back burning cold.

For the Watch.

He saw their faces, felt again the bite of cold steel plunging into his body, repeating their chant. For the Watch, they claimed and the pain in his heart was only ended by the dagger that found it, but then the stabs never ceased, they never stopped, they kept going and he cried out.

You have to fight.

The darkness left him in a storm of red and white, of blood and bone and soft whispered pleas from more than one voice.

He smelled woods, and snow and meat and tears in the air, he was warm and hungry and in pain, but he watched on as the one with red hair, the sweet one, cradled the one he was bonded with, asking for help in harsh despair. Towers of black rose at their sides and disappeared in a storm of white.

I'm not a Stark.

His paws were firm and steady upon the ice, he could smell the apprehension and hesitation of the men all around him, but none there dared to go against her, none there dared to speak, hopes and fears made them living stone, and only the red one worked with strength from the heart.

My father used to say that there is no shame in fear, only in how we face it.

He saw faces, faces he thought long gone and that he aimed to forget.

Why do you imagine that they need your help? Are you such a mighty warrior, or do you carry a grumkin in your pocket to magic up your sword?

He disappeared just as he came, his crow chanting. "Corn!Corn!Corn!"

Next came a deep voice, speaking from over a fire.

We can only die. Why else do we don these black cloaks, but to die in defense of the realm?

He was right, he thought. He died in defense of the realm, realms of men. That was all he could've hoped for.

We should have stayed in that cave Jon Snow

Her fire flared and disappeared as suddenly as a summer rain and his fingers were left to trail wisps of ashes turning to snow, white snow, cold. Winter is Coming. He saw their faces like dreams, and their names were like a prayer.

The Old Bear, Qhorin Halfhand, Donal Noye, Ser Aliser, Stannis, Pyp, Green, Ygritte…. Father, Robb, Lady Catelyn, Bran, Rickon and Sansa and Arya.

The forest opened, and he felt the chill in the air and the eyes of the trees, but they were friendly and sad and they wanted to help. They seemed to have all the same faces though, a face that was familiar and it stirred something in his heart. He loved to climb, he thought, as the people spread around, and the red one kneeled by his side, the other one, the one that was only red and nothing else asked and whispered the sounds they used to say things he never had to.

Around them the wind sung and leaves danced.

No. He thought in sudden panic, feeling the pull, the darkness was moving away. No! He cried, he didn't want to. To go back, to go back was to suffer, was the weight of the world, of grief of guilty. He was at peace and he felt everything coming back to him, blue eyes that never wanted him there…

I'm only a bastard.

But a voice was singing, a soft plea, pulling him back.

"… ber home? Winterfell? Everyone there? Do you remember? It's our home, please, come back to me Jon. Remember the grey walls and the great towers, the people and the godswood with the big weirwood? Remember our family? Robb, he would fight you in the courtyard and you were always close, remember him? And Bran and Rickon laughing and throwing snowballs? And Arya? I know you must remember her, always d-dirty a-and… They are out there… They are out there and I'm here… I don't know if I'm who you wanted, but I hope you give me a chance. Please Jon…"

Jon… My name is Jon.

He saw her cradling him, his vision changing, he bent his head back and howled into the sky, the howl of a Ghost, and himself and he felt the soft voice stopping with a gasp, before her hand came to the chest of the man on her lap and he felt it there, soft fingers, and the tears falling from her eyes burned, as warm as the smoke of her breath.

The memories flooded him like the warmth of a snowball fight amongst summer snows and the laughter of Winterfell's people… Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest.

I'm not afraid to die.

Nor live, I hope. Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger

He remembered of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself, and suddenly he was not a wolf anymore, there was no more shelter, but she was really there, and he found her eyes, blue and deep, blazing with life and fresh tears.

Jon Snow blinked in wonder, hearing her gasp clear in the night, his name a soft whisper on her lips as her arms embraced him, and his hands felt her frame as if on their own.


	3. SANSA II

SANSA

"My Lady, you don't have to see this" Brienne whispered at her side. Her knight, for everything she still tried to protect her, even if it was from something like a gruesome sight, but the woman couldn't know that she had seen the worst of executions for her life. And this, well this was more a duty for her than anything else, even as more arguments came forward from her protector. "We rode two days straight to get here, and then you went beyond the wall and back. My lady, you're exhausted, I'm sure your brother would have you resting right now."

The soft reminder, made Sansa stare at the sight of him, standing beside the block at the center of Castle Black, clad all in black, still wearing the bloodied doublet he had died in, except he was well alive and strong with naked steel in his hands. She tried to wonder what was going through his head then, but every guess made her worry even more, making her stand through her fatigue, her headache and the longing to keep him in her arms, afraid he might be a passing hope ready to be whipped away at the faintest breeze.

She remembered watching him all the way until they passed the gates under the Wall, and how he changed then. She had heard the whispers around them already, talks of wargs, of gods and dead men with blue eyes, but she cared not for any of it. Only the way his voice hardened when speaking with his men, ordering to bring them for him immediately and as the block was brought forward and the prisoners fetched, Sansa stepped aside and waited.

"I'll stay here" She told Brienne as the first prisoner is brought forth. "I have to."

The prisoners were all in chains, stripped to barely any clothing in the cutting cold from the Wall. She could see that some of them had been beaten some, baring split lips and yellowish bruises upon their faces. She knows nothing of those men, but still Sansa is overcome by a surprising sense of pity at the sight. These people tried to take him from me. They stabbed him and left him in the cold to die, they deserve this.

"That one is Bowen Marsh" The lad by her side, a young one called Satin, whispers as the first prisoner kneels beside the block, long haired and bearded, she can see the man has a deep scar crossing his face. Jon asks for his final words.

"You shouldn't be alive…" The man rants and Sansa doesn't even hear anything else as she clutches her fists in front of her. Shortly after, Sansa sees the man called Edd and another one drop the culprit to his knees.

Jon swings the sword and the head crashes upon the snow in a spray of red.

Sansa remembers of her father. She had never been called upon by Lord Eddard to watch an execution, and yet once she witnessed one, when a man was executed in Winterfell for the crimes of rape and murder. Her father had stood there resolutely, hearing the man speak before lifting his greatsword.

Ice took the man's head in one swift stroke.

Jon looks like him, she thinks now with a pang of something squirming inside her chest. She had never been sure of what Lord Eddard's ways really meant when she was younger. The Old Way that always had her father retreating to the Godswood after a killing, it could have been so easy to use executioners. But Sansa had seen what executioners did, she had seen the cold eyes of men calling for the death of others, never having to bear the steel.

Othel Warwick dies after pleading for word to be sent to his wife. Sansa wonders what kind of woman that might be, and if she thought of this man often… And then Ser Alliser Thorne is there as well. The knight was in pain it seemed and, when he spoke, his voice carried through the courtyard and resounded on the Wall and back, taking the cold with it.

"I had a choice, Lord Commander. Betray you, or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of wildlings into our lands, an army of murderers and rapists." Sansa doesn't look away, she can feel the wildlings around. Was it truth? She wondered, but in her eyes there were only men and women around her. Warriors like many she had known. Once, wildlings like these even saved her from Joffrey, even if they were under orders themselves. If appearances could say anything at all, Sansa had learned not to trust them. "I fought, now I rest… But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."

Jon takes the man's head and Sansa thinks she sees his hands shaking for a moment. His eyes lock on the ground as the last one is brought forth.

Olly was only a boy, not older than Bran. Her heart thumps as that thought hits her and she is one step away from having Jon stop what he is doing, but suddenly it's as if her body is not working . The boy says nothing as Jon waits and Sansa can see his eyes, full of hurt and anger and hate, like poison seeping from his soul. She tries to gauge Jon's reaction, but he is looking away from her.

This time the sword hesitates before Jon takes the head.

For a moment her brother just stands there, his grey eyes held none of the softness from before, none of the warmth and longing and eagerness as he rose from death and whispered her name under the moon in a cold night. Instead they are void, staring at the blood as the snow drinks it.

"Burn the bodies" He says in an empty raspy voice as he turns away from the scene, Ghost padding by his side. The crowd parts to let him through, Wildlings and men of the Watch alike, bowing and fearing his passage.

She watches the man that Jon had become walking away stiffly, trying to compare him to that boy she grew up with, a boy who was silent and solemn, whom shared lessons with Robb and smirked at their little sister for almost any reason. She compares him to the thoughts that plagued her for a long time, from the point she learned of his status at the Wall. The man she sees walking away now scares her some. The world is build by killers… The Hound seemed to whisper in her ears.

Learning what a bastard meant for her family and for her mother most of all, Sansa had quickly learned to be distant from him. Trying to please her mother, to make her maybe happier amidst the shame she endured. It was only proper after all. He was her half-brother and that was all, she was courteous to him, polite, but never warm and never caring like she had been with Robb. She offered words, polite smiles but never hugs or laughs… How could she do anything else?

She could still remember how afraid she was when the Red Woman had kissed him and the trees seemed to move, how she cradled his body in the snow, begging whatever gods were out there to make it true that she could save him, that she could bring him back and as her soul was sinking yet again in that dark empty pit that became her life, losing everything again and again she found herself wishing for home.

And she had spoken of Winterfell. Not the castle dominated by Boltons, but its people, of the names she remembered and the names she wishes to say again. She whispered of their siblings, and how they were alive out there, and how they could find them while having her thoughts swirling with promises…

And Jon had woken up under the howl of a white direwolf.

His grey eyes meeting hers, dark grey, Stark grey, and her fingers were suddenly fists as he had locked gazes with her. It was a dream, she had feared. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe she would wake up soon to a horrible life, but he was blinking, staring, and Sansa had seen he was also confused and afraid, and suddenly her arms were around him.

She had shaken suddenly, breathing a sob in relief. He smelt of pine and oak and melted snow, nothing of death. His arms were at some point around her and she could feel his heart beating against her chest, his own breath against her neck, strong, alive. And she was alive as well, feeling it for the first time in years, out of the pit and finally at home.

She wouldn't let this go.

She couldn't…

Now as she sees him walking away into the shadow of some dark corner, Sansa remembered how Mother would sometimes seek Father in the Godswood, or, sometimes wait for his return at entrance, hands clasped before her navel, chin high and eyes twinkling. There was no Godswood at the Wall though. But I'm here… Sansa thought. I'm here, we're not alone any longer.

"You don't need to guard me for the day Brienne." She said softly to the woman, not waiting for a reply as she took small steps through the snow. Her legs hurt, her mind seemed numb with fatigue, and she could still fell the stinging pain of bruises and cuts that never properly healed but she couldn't sleep yet, not after seeing him walking away like that.

She ignored the men around her, shaggy men, bearded men, men with fiery hearts and men in black and wildlings, some were women, all staring, working, going on with their day to trade whispers of the man that came back to life and maybe of her as well, but Sansa cared not for them at the moment. She stepped around the pile of firewood, and made her way after him, following the ghost of his steps to the room behind the armory.

She just got him back.

When she stopped before the door, she was suddenly afraid of what she would find inside, a vengeful man fuming over betrayal or perhaps a cold lord brooding over who else might be against him. Jon is not like that, she told herself remembering the lad from her childhood. He is not a killer…

Opening the door she walked inside and stopped at the sight that greeted her.

Blinking, Sansa takes time to look at him, feeling Ghost brushing at her side leaving the room completely. She was confused and afraid as she was left alone, wondering why the direwolf wouldn't stay with Jon for he clearly needed him, but the wolf was already gone.

Gulping to herself Sansa closed the door, the sound unnerving and loud.

Her sight travels through the small quarters slowly, buying time. She had thought the Lord Commander's place would be larger, but these were simple quarters and small. There was a table sitting by a closed window and his jerkin was there, still covered in blood. His sword was also bloodied, leaning against the wall, neglected and lonely…

That boy from Winterfell had always been quiet, careful and courteous around her, even if he fumbled a little. This was a man, a commander that had just executed his supposed brothers.

How do I fix this? She wonders now desperately. Robb would know what to do… She thinks with a stab of guilty. Arya surely would be hugging him now, telling him to stop being stupid. Bran and Rickon would obviously be able to cheer him up. You're just a stupid girl who knows nothing. He probably is starting to regret ever seeing you. He probably wishes you were somebody else. Her gaze travels from his face to his chest where she could see the stab wounds clearly open, the shadows burned there under the fire light. Yet… I'm here…

"Jon" She gasps watching the stiff posture, the trembling hands. He is as broken as I feel. The thought makes her want to cry as well, but instead she waits for him. I have to be strong now, one more time.

Her approach is a slow one and Sansa feels herself floating in a daze, until she comes to stand before her brother. Her hands seemed to move as if on their own accord brushing the wound on his heart lightly, smearing her fingertips with blood. The way he jerks back at the movement doesn't go unnoticed by her.

"Does it hurt?" Her question is but the soft brushing of a skirt in snow grounds, and he shakes his head slowly. Her hands move again and then she keeps her eyes on his, pulling him into her arms in a silent hug. Please be better. She wished, brushing the hair atop his head lightly, bringing his face down. Please.

That is when something seems to break inside her brother.

In no time he is sobbing in her arms and her shoulder is soaking in tears, but Sansa doesn't pull away until he stops, wishing to take all that grief, all that anger, all that pain that consumes her own heart too many times.

Once upon a time she had wondered on how sweet it would be to see him again, a piece of her family. Holding him as she shed her own tears unbound by survival, lies and danger, listening and feeling him calming down, is even sweeter.

She turns to him, and he is closer and she feels like finally she is free. Free of her masks, of her armor, the steel is gone. There is nothing there but love, and longing and something she might be reflecting back, of someone who's been alone for a long time. But they were not, she wouldn't allow him to leave her, not now. He was family, he was what she was seeking all these years, and Sansa allowed herself to bask in these emotions until a new realization hits her that has a old unused burst coming from her guts, and she giggles uncontrollably, and suddenly the tears she feels running down her cheeks don't matter, her heart beats freely and she laughs harder.

"What is so funny?" He asks, befuddled in a muffled raspy voice.

"You… You're so… So short." She says amused and he blinks in confusion as a full grin splits his face and his laughter is sudden and true, pouring warmth into her chest.


	4. RED WOMAN

RED WOMAN

She sought the fires again, but much like before there were no answers there.

She had hoped, she had believed, truly, from the deepest corner of her inner fire that she had found the Lord's chosen, but in the face of failure that could not be, and still the vision was the same. A dying scream and salvation, and she knew what it enticed.

True victory could only come with sacrifice, for in life there was a cost for everything. Courage took great fear, power took hard work and strength inevitably took suffering and yet, when Stannis Baratheon heard the dying scream of his daughter, no salvation came, only doom. To see the mistakes blossoming in front of her had been hard, a blow that still seemed too violent to get up from, and her whole life felt suddenly fragile and meaningless like another dissolving ash.

Melody… She heard, seeming long ago. Lot Seven…

Brushing away those memories she sought for more, one last guide, one last glimpse, but nothing came, she only had Snow and the barest shred of faith.

It was truly lost.

And she was lost in herself. All the death, all the pain, all the blood of the certainty was suddenly crashed and burned. The world was doomed, and maybe it would be her fault, her righteous punishment for her error. She had resigned herself to one last action of seeing to the dead commander's pyre, watching the procedures beside Lord Davos, a man whom she dared offer nothing but silence since her return.

But that girl had arrived, and her voice had cut through the flickering fire, her steps getting through the crowd and erasing the flames in hasty, followed by the large woman and the wolf. The White beast. Not even her own charm seemed able to command him then. The girl yelled and cursed and cradled the body of Jon Snow. Melisandre had almost trembled when the girl seemed to be blinking, staring at nothing as if listening to a distant whisper, before turning in her direction. Sansa Stark's words had been cold and harsh.

"You'll save him!"

They had dragged him beyond the Wall then, something the girl was adamant in doing, despite protests, but the wolf and the woman in mail were by her side, and Davos Seaworth spoke of her magic hesitantly, like the man he was, still afraid, believing his seven, but acknowledging her power.

More unwillingly that she would like to admit, she went with them, to those cold lands, meeting in a place where she felt the great darkness stronger than it ever could be. She could feel the eyes then, the thralls and tendrils of the enemy, but her warnings were ignored. Instead of burning those trees as she uncertainly urged, she was asked to give him the kiss, and she did.

Mumbling the words, and breathing fire, only to be met by silence.

Melody… Lot Seven.

It seemed to be clearer then, as the night grew darker. The hour of the wolf was upon them, Jon Snow was still dead and the girl was crying. Out of respect and with an ounce of curiosity Melisandre had stepped back then, turning around, she could see the faces, the tree demons those northerners worshiped, the bark pale as bone. Surely something so cold was not meant to be good.

Her hand had briefly covered one of the solemn carved faces, curiously wondering if their sacrifice would be enough to rectify her failure when the stung hit her like a prickle of a needle, leaving a small trail of blood upon the white. The winds had risen then, she could hear the darkness growing and her energy had bristled in anticipation, but instead of danger and the thralls of the enemy the silence was met only by the girl's gentle whispers, breaking in the first breath of a dead man.

In that moment she had hesitate. Her faith had been rekindled, reined back by a cold harsh fear. She had always wondered that surely the Lord had brought her here, to this Wall, for a reason, and as Jon Snow came back to life, she thought the reason might be clear. She saw the two embracing each other on the snow, seeming to be there for a long time as the wildlings and black brothers stared aghast. She had waited until the two rose to their feet, Jon Snow's steps uncertain and failing before Davos Seaworth stepped forward to help with the big woman in toll. Together they carried Jon Snow between then, his breaths ragged as if he needed to learn how to breathe again.

"It's okay Jon, everything will be okay now" Sansa Stark was saying as she met then in desperate steps.

"What did you see?" She asked those grey eyes, they were not red like the dead man she found in the Riverlands, neither they were blue like the enemies, but grey like before.

"Leave him be" The Stark girl said, urging her aside, and her question went unanswered except for Lord Davos' glare. The travel back had been a silent one, only broke by the hooves of the horses as they came closer to the wall. Torches and dragonglass riding beside their small column until the dawn broke.

It was meant to be. She thought holding back her eagerness. Her faith had been broken to pieces, but now it was back. Stannis had been a mistake, but Snow might not. She should be careful, for there were heathen forces at work out there as well. This North was wild, but maybe she could guide him to the light. Surely he must see his purpose was a greater one, surely this experience would convince him.

So she came here to her chambers, alone, and she looked into the fires.

But the fires held nothing, but light and what might come remained a mystery. Nothing more was offered, and maybe it was only fair considering her misgivings. Maybe the Lord himself doesn't see my worth any longer. There was no space in her soul to consider that long though, the final battle would come and her power was her armor and her sword. Her faith had to be strong if mankind was to stand a chance and for that she would keep going. She was still trying when the clearing of a throat startled her and she spun around, finding Lord Davos staring at her from the door, his brow furrowed, watching her.

"What is it?"

"I won't let you do to him what you did to Stannis" He said severely, the implication settling the air between them. Tense and still, she felt the fight approaching, Melisandre rose to her feet. This one will never understand.

"He is special, you must know that now…"

"Just like Stannis was?" He questioned, the words cutting through her, but her face remained calm. "I saw the way you were looking at him out there, I saw it. It's the same look you gave to my king my lady, and I won't let you destroy that lad as well."

"I never destroyed anyone Lord Davos, I merely guided them to the light."

"Is that what you call it?" His voice held a heavy tone of loathing; she saw his fingers seeking the bag on his chest, only to find nothing. "What happened at that camp?" She stood in silence, knowing he would not remember the torch she left for him in the dungeons, or the son she convinced the king to leave in Dragonstone, her deeds would find only punishment not recognition.

"This country was your king's enemy Lord Davos, not I."

"Please elaborate on that" He gritted his teeth, but then he shook his head, his fists were clenched. "Elaborate on that my lady, please do tell me, what happened to my king? What happened to Stannis? What happened to Princess Shirren?!"

His voice hit her like a whip.

Melody.

Her heart was beating faster, strong in a body that shouldn't sustain life and health any longer. It was the dying scream announcing salvation, it was all she had, the only certainty, it had been wrong. The price would be harsh but worthy had it been right, but, Lord forgive me, the girl died and there was only doom.

Lot Seven.

"His men lost heart Lord Davos, in face of the price"

"The price…" She saw the thought working in the man's eyes, his accusations coming forward now, finally finding the light as he came to conclusions of his own, conclusions that might be just right. "You… You…"

"I told the king what the price would be and he accepted. He asked that of me and I obeyed."

"After you poisoned him!" He shouted in anger, his face was red as he stepped forward, his anger making her retreat. "Your words! Your God! Your sorcery! You murdered her!"

He towered, glaring at her, the raw anger of men as she had known in her time, she could feel her forces ready for an attack. She was not afraid. The threats to her were easy to see, even if her powers were weak, even if the Lord abandoned her, this she could trust and the fires showed nothing. I won't die here, she thought with her last shred of faith.

"The blizzard was too strong, the Lord showed what needed to be done…"

"I loved that girl!" He screamed at her face, broken. "I loved her like she was my own! She was good, she was kind and you killed her!"

"So did her mother and so did her father." She threw back, seeing him flinch, none of them moved but she saw her words striking. "Her own blood knew it was the only way!"

"The only way for what? They all died anyway" Lord Davos seemed to beg to be proven wrong with sheer desperation. Melody… Lot Seven… She gritted her teeth. "You told everyone Stannis was the one. You had him believe it, that he was the savior, that he would vanquish the darkness as the one true king, and you had all of them fooled… You lied…"

"I didn't lie!" She said shutting him up, she could feel his hands on either side of her face. When did he corner me against the wall? She saw he was still staring with the hate and despair, the cold stone of blame casted upon her, and its size was the one of a mountain. The words were hard to say, they got stuck in her throat, like a worm full of thorns and yet she forced them out, looking away. A broken whisper. "I was wrong"

"Aye… You were"

His hands wrapped around her, warm and terrible, pressing the necklace against her throat. I won't beg, she thought, but she couldn't speak already, and the air was hard to come, it was like a hiss and her lungs burned with need as her vision blurred.

His eyes hated her, and cried.

Melody… She thought as darkness engulfed her, something cracked and bent. Lot Seven…

I was wrong.

And suddenly she was falling.


	5. JON

JON

His steps were clumsy or completely stiff, but he was a passable dancer or at least Jon liked to think himself as such. He knew the steps, knew the timing and even the song, but none of those things did anything to stop Greyjoy's snickering.

"Gods, Snow, you're stiff as a board" The ward said, cackling.

"Try to relax Jon" Robb called from where he was doing his own practice, with Beth Cassel seeming beaming at the attention.

"I'm trying" He mumbled looking at Jeyne, who seemed to be forcing her smile. She wants Robb, Jon thought with a sigh. There was nothing new there, who would want to be paired with the bastard when the heir was right there? By all means he should be used to it, but when it came a part of the dance when he should walk, turn and come back, he suddenly slipped, almost tripping the girl. Jeyne's eyes glared and he felt his cheeks burning. "Sorry"

"Stop…" Her voice was sharp and the harp stopped playing. Robb and Beth stepped away, his brother seeming amusedly curious, while Sansa herself walked to him. Jon fumbled nervously on his feet, he loved his sister dearly even if she mostly ignored him him, but he didn't like the idea of Lady Catelyn finding them in the small hall. "You know what Jon? They are right, you have to relax a little if you are to dance with anyone at the feast."

"I don't want to dance" Jon mumbled. There would be so many important lords there he wouldn't even have to, no one would see him at his place so far from the high table, but his sister wouldn't be thwarted.

"It will be my tenth name day Jon, and Father even asked for a singer from White Harbor. I want everyone to be perfect like it should be and everyone will have to ask for a dance with me. You're my half-brother and you have to dance properly" Saying that she took his hands and started humming the song. Her smile was captivating, assuring, sweet and admonishing in a way that told him doing this wrong was unacceptable. How she managed a smile like that he would never know… Resigned he started the old routine, been more careful this time, for he didn't want to sadden Sansa when she had been so excited for her feast, it mattered not if he would sit with the family or not.

His worry was so great he had to look at his feet, suddenly conscious of his movements, but she would have none of that. "Look at me Jon" She told him and when he looked up she was still there, but the hall was gone, Robb, Jeyne, Beth and Theon were gone. There was only the two of them and her eyes of blue were suddenly crying. Stop, he wanted to tell her, I'm doing it right. Don't you see? I'm not tripping… But the eyes melted down, and her tears smoked around her cheeks.

She was cold in his hands and that is when he woke up.

The first coherent thought he managed was that he was on his bed, the second was that he was not alone. Blinking in the dim light, Jon looked to his side. He was almost startled thinking it was Ygritte and maybe they were in her furs, resting under the Halfhand's cloak. But this wasn't Ygritte. The hair was a shade darker and more alive, longer as well. She was disheveled and had smears on her face, but had high cheekbones and softness far from the spearwife.

She was real, Jon thought looking at Sansa with increasing fascination.

He wanted to reach out and touch her just to be sure, to brush a thread of red hair away from her eyes, but he stilled himself and just watched, her body moving, rising and falling in pace with her breathing, seeming to tuck herself further under his old cloak. The movement made her move, and Jon felt her own arm draped over is chest.

He held his breath at the movement, realizing, at the same time, his own state of undress even if he was under the furs and she was not. Watching how her hand curled above the still open wounds, cold and gentle, gave him a gut wrenching feeling, remembering what happened.

Gods you're pathetic. Jon thought staring back at her, his heart was beating faster inside his chest, like something living. Does that even make it real?

For the Watch. They said.

Ghost… He whispered in one last pleading attempt.

The thought of daggers piercing his skin was not as bad as the righteous gaze those men sent him when it was time to execute them. A monster, a bastard, a turncloak… He might as well be all of them, and they wouldn't be wrong. Once he came inside his chambers to find the wounds still there, it crashed down that he might not even be human anymore.

The fear that was a burning ember became a roaring fire once she saw him, once he felt her hesitation and her lingering gaze upon the deadly wounds he suffered. She will run. I finally found her again and she will run.

But his sister didn't run, she stayed and her arms and eyes were like ice extinguishing those shameful flames down to ash. Overwhelmed with guilty, dread and relief he had cried and sobbed like a child, something he hadn't done in a long time, and when he felt the bed on his back the darkness was already upon him.

And now here they were and that was surprising; she must have fallen asleep after him.

Now he suddenly caught himself thinking of the many situations where sharing a bed was common. As children even the bastard was allowed to be with his siblings when they huddled together to sleep in cold winter nights, Arya once in a while would sneak into his bed wanting comfort from nightmares, and brothers of the Watch would often share furs and sleep close in search for warmth beyond the Wall.

But we are not children and this should be improper.

Trying to get up without her knowledge Jon softly took her hand, guiding it gently way from him. She stirred a little and her brows furrowed lightly before relaxing again. He thought she had gone back to sleep, but her eyes opened all of the sudden, and Jon froze almost out of the bed.

Her eyes were blue, blazing, something he saw somewhere before, but couldn't place where exactly and they seemed fond to find him there for she smiled. "Jon"

"Sansa" He said. Gods, how long has it been since he could speak one of his siblings' names? He didn't know, but her name was like rushing water, not weaker than when he said it for the first time in the cold of the night.

"You seem better. I'm glad."

"I'm glad as well" He said in a reflex. "You can sleep, you must be exhausted."

"I didn't die" She said smirking and Jon blinked, feeling an amused chuckle bursting from his chest. He remembered that darkness pulling him with tendrils and claws, and pushed those memories away.

"No I suppose not, but riding through the night to rescue a dead man must be exhausting all the same."

"It certainly is." She closed her eyes, but he saw a small tinge of red coming to her cheeks as she snuggled on the pillow. Her eyes darted awake and she stared up at him and then at the bed. "S-Sorry for been here, but I was really tired and…" She looked away.

Feeling his own cheeks burning Jon offered her a stiff nod, before going for the spare tunic amongst his things. He fit the clothing quickly, fumbling with the sleeves before finally feeling comfortable inside his room again. He scanned the place around seeing the bloodied doublet still there above the table. Grimacing he looked around for his sword, and found the blade by the hearth.

Jon flexed his burned hand.

The Valyrian Steel glowed in that familiar deep grey color, the shapes on the blade of metal forged and bent over itself thousands of times were visible under a thin layer of oil, perfectly done. Longclaw was as if it had never been used. Lord Eddard had taught his sons to care of their weapons themselves. Another point to be ashamed of, bastard.

Sansa just sat atop the bed, and he had a glimpse of her clothes before she closed the cloak around her body. Her dress was simple wool, plain and blue, more fitting for a handmaiden than a lady, he realized. "Is that Valyrian Steel?"

"Aye" In some nightmares Jon could still see the blue eyes of the wight coming for him, before he set the thing on fire. Now that night was becoming the lesser evil of his fears replaced by others far worse, like the realization slowly crawling into his brain, filling him with guilty. "I didn't know you were alive."

His voice sounded weird and hurt to his own ears and suddenly he wants to kneel and ask forgiveness, he wants to apologize for not knowing, otherwise he surely would have come for her. Would you though? Like you almost did for Father? Robb? Like you would have done for Arya without a second thought?

"It's all right" He heard her answering, breaking that chain of thought. "Roose Bolton didn't want to spread news of my marriage until I was with child. He wanted to make sure the rest of the North wouldn't try to steal me away in some act of revenge, and he was also fearful of Baelish's intentions in giving me to his son." Her voice is dull, but Jon is certain he can sense an edgy of bitterness under it.

"I'm sorry"

"Was it your fault?" He is taken aback by the tone of anger, and Jon quickly shakes his head. Her eyes soften at the gesture and suddenly she is bringing her knees to her chest, like something fragile trying to find solid ground. He feels the chill for the first time, and wonders why Satin hadn't come to light the fire. Maybe it is for the best that he didn't though. It only took a few moments to get the firewood burning. "I'm really happy to see you Jon, I… I still can't believe I'm here." her words take his attention away and her eyes are on him again like twin pools welcoming him in. "I thought I had… lost you"

You did lose me. He thinks, remembering how cold he had felt. For the Watch. "I'm really happy to see you too, Sansa" He said sincerely, glad when she beams back at him. "Are you… Hungry?"

"Yes" She says grimacing. Of course she is hungry you fool, you're hungry yourself. Nodding, Jon moved a little too quickly towards the door glad when he found Mully and Horse outside, talking about Wun Wun.

"I swear there won't be any cabbages for us when winter comes."

"Fine by me" Mully says. "Never liked cabbages anyway."

"Would you rather have prunes?"

"Bloody hell…"

Jon clears his throat at that, startling the two as they turn around.

"M'lord" Mully says as if he had only gone to sleep instead of dying.

He gives them a short greeting, taking sight of the huge woman standing a few steps away from door, clearly on a guard of her own. "You two make sure no one enters" He told them, leaving for the courtyard.

When he executed the traitors the castle had seemed especially dark and oppressive. Looking into Olly's eyes mostly had felt like the whole Wall was staring down at him with hate. Every corner, every shadow, every dark frame was an enemy or a reminder of his failure. Now it was just Castle Black in an icy afternoon.

There was a large number of free folk wandering around, doing chores with black brothers. Men wearing the fiery heart of Baratheon were still around as well, keeping mostly to themselves like a defeated lot. He sees Leathers and Iron Emmett working with recruits and Wun Wun sitting by the King's Tower. I should put Sansa there, she would be safe with the giant at her door.

Unlike the brothers escaping his sight as he makes his path to the kitchens, Three-Fingers Hobb actually reacts to his presence, eyeing him carefully up and down before grumbling as he poured two bowls of stew and took some black bread from the table. "Tollet said you came back, apparently in the after-life you can only eat prunes, that was the reason he said."

"Are you asking me?"

"Not really, bugger if I want to know m'lord." He pours a horn of ale and then throws a sausage on the plate. "It would ruin the surprise."

"Aye it would." Jon said grabbing water and leaving the kitchens through the great hall. He hears whispers from the brothers eating there, but none of them can grab his attention as he moves. His thoughts are solely on Sansa as he comes back to the rooms behind the armory. After dismissing his guards and eyeing the woman one more time he enters, finding his sister running her fingers through Ghost's fur, the direwolf lazily lying on her lap.

She lost Lady, he remembers seeing her peaceful smile as she basically embraced the wolf, her eyes darting to him briefly as he enters. "I was wondering where he ran off to" He said placing the food on the table, taking a bowl of stew and some bread. He wondered briefly about the sausage before deciding to set it aside. Your sister suffered enough. "Here"

"Thank you" She took the bowl and the bread before scooping up on the bed, resting her back against the stone wall. The room was already feeling warmer due to the fire and Jon sat at his table, taking of sip of ale, before tasting the stew. There was meat there which was a good surprise, some onions too and tiny pieces of carrot that Jon tastes hungrily.

They eat in silence for a while, and Jon can't help but watch. His gaze is drawn to her sad smiles as she feeds Ghost with a piece meat. The wolf chews on it greedily, before setting back on her legs. Bloody wolf, Jon thinks as his direwolf's eyes met his, as if daring him to say something.

"I saw that woman, Brienne, she has a lion on her sword"

"It's Father's sword" She said, and Jon raises an eyebrow as she elaborates. "The Lannisters, they melted Ice down to make a pair of swords. The one with Brienne was for Jaime Lannister."

"The Kingslayer's sword?"

She was nodding now and Jon felt an urge to go back outside and place a watch over the woman. "He gave it to her. Mother, she freed the Kingslayer and sent Brienne with him to escort him to King's Landing. It was supposed to be an exchange, but…" Jon doesn't need to hear, he knew. The Red Wedding… Robb… He feels broken just thinking of it. Farewell Snow. "Apparently the Kingslayer made an oath to keep me and Arya safe. So he sent Brienne to find us. At least that was what she told me… True or not, she saved my life before." She finished, explaining her trust.

"And he gave her a sword" Jon finishes, his thoughts in shambles. It wasn't enough that Theon had helped her, the Kingslayer had his own part to play in all of this, and he, her brother. What did I do? I never even knew she was in the North, so close.

"She is good. I didn't believe her at first, but she still came for me." She smiled. "For all her size, she is quite shy as well, young." You're young. Jon wanted to say, but he keeps silent. After everything he doubts Sansa would want to hear that. "Why did you ask?"

"She has been guarding the door for some time now…"

Suddenly his sister seemed a lot like her younger self when she was annoyed with something Arya had done and he almost expected her to stomp her foot down. Getting up, she practically marched to the door and Jon could hear her words, hard and steady, not harsh. There was an answer and then a response and before he knew the door was closed and she came to sit by his side, close to the fire. He felt like smiling at the way she pressed her lips together.

"She rode day and night to save me, and day and night with me. What use would be a knight dead on her feet? She should've known better."

"You should as well" He said earning the attention of those blue inquiring eyes, before he motions to his sword. Now he is sure she is blushing, and the soup she takes is a distraction. "You were tired as well, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Brienne showed me how she cleaned her blade when we were traveling, I believe I did it properly." She said slowly, taking a sip of her meal. Jon gulps internally and nods, taking a sip of his ale as the silence envelops them, like a blanket, not at all uncomfortable as it is uncertain.

He wondered what he should say. Should he even say something? He tried to remember the sister that went south when he left Winterfell, but he is not a maiden to keep her company, he doesn't know how to talk. So he simply tries not to stare. "Thank you" He says meaning a lot of things at once, feeling the need to say it.

Sansa blinks at him and nods with a smile. It was a pretty smile, short, not as wide as he remembered, and that made him sad. What happened to you? He wants to ask, fearing that he would have to answer the same question, or worse, cause her pain.

"This is good soup" Her voice speaks cutting through the fog of silence.

"Aye" Jon answered eagerly. "Just don't tell it to our cook, Hobb would never let us forget that a highborn lady praised his food."

She smirks. "I promise to try." She said turning to the fire, the blue of her eyes dancing in the sight of the flames, as if trying to grasp something from the moving shapes. "Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used make?"

"With the peas and onions" I was dead, he thought gloomily. Now I'm not, and we're talking about kidney pies. He wanted to laugh, but the memory was sweet and he let it drag him. "Robb always wanted to sneak in and steal the first piece."

"And you went with him" She accused as he remembered the times they had to bribe her not to tell. She was already a little lady then, all wanting her proper due. He chuckles, and beside him she does the same. Is she really taller than me? He wondered, not sure how to feel about it.

As the moment settles like dust on a quiet room, he can almost feel the mood changing, the words forming in her mouth, like the first flakes of summer snows.

"I keep wishing to go back…" Her voice was sad now, just like the smile settling on her lips. "I want to yell at myself for so many things. Don't go you idiot, I want to say. Stay. Play with your siblings, give Father a hug let mother know how you…"

"None could've known" He offered weakly.

"It doesn't matter Jon" His name was almost a song on her lips, like when he opened his eyes. "It doesn't excuse anything…" She looked sadly at him. "There were lots of times, recently, when I thought about you…" She smiles a sad smile. "I wish I could change everything"

"We were children"

"I was awful to you, just admit it."

He has to laugh, remembering. She wasn't awful, not really, merely distant and polite in a way that hurt a lot. As Lady Catelyn, Sansa was a constant reminder of what he was not, but there was also the moments when she would show she cared and those… "You were occasionally awful…" He says now worried that he might offend her, but she doesn't seem bothered. "I'm sure it wasn't easy though with me sulking in the corner every now and then…"

"Stop it…" She chuckles a little before he can finish, looking down on her lap. "Can you forgive me?"

"Sansa"

"Forgive me"

He was already shaking his head, the past seeming distant and insignificant now, after everything, after dying and coming back. You came here for me, you brought me back. "There is nothing to forgive" He says with a smile.

"Forgive me"

"No"

"Please" She says in a tone he remembered her using when she wanted someone to be her knight in a children's play, smiling too, and he cannot help but feel proud for putting that smile there, lighting her face like the breaking of dawn.

"All right I forgive you" He says, taking a sip from his ale. When he meets her eyes again she is motioning to his horn. He thinks only for a moment before handing it to her, watching as she takes a sip, coughing immediately. Jon finds himself chuckling, his heart warming up even more at the sight. "You'd think after eight thousand years the watch would learn how to brew good ale."

"Is not that bad" She says taking one more tentative sip, and he could see her mind working, lips smacking at the taste with a forced smile. "It's getting better"

"Aye" He says tentatively feeling like laughing for no reason, and he knows he is smiling like a fool still a then…

"She saw Arya."

"What?" He asks and Sansa is staring at the fire again.

"Brienne, she saw Arya at the Riverlands, but she didn't trust her, much like I didn't. She was alive Jon" Sansa tells him, as he thinks back to his little sister. Skinny, messy hair and smiling. The memory is enough that he feels the daggers piercing him again. Little sister… "And Theon, he told me Bran and Rickon are alive, I'm sure I saw Bran when I…"

"I thought I saw him too." He says remembering whispers in veils of shadow. There is silence now as he hears the fire crackling. His brothers, his sister… They are alive, Sansa was here, they were not dead, they were scattered to the winds.

"Jon…" She hesitates. "Are you staying here?"

"I can't" He can still see their eyes on him, he lowers his gaze. "Not after what happened."

"Where… Where will you go?"

"Where will we go" He says right away, turning to watch her. There was no way he would leave her out of his sight. She was what he thought he would never have again. "Father's ghost would come back and murder me if I don't look after you."

"All right, where will we go?"

"Away from here, some place safe and then we can find them."

Her smile stays in her face as she looks away. "There is only one place we can go Jon…" He stares, waiting for her answer, and when it comes it might as well have been a roar. "Home"

"What? Should we tell the Boltons to pack up and leave?"

"We'll take it back from them"

"We don't have an army" He says watching her chin rising.

"How many wildlings did you save?"

"They didn't come here to serve me" He points out, he had promised they would fight their common enemy, not Boltons, but Sansa doesn't flinch.

"They own you their lives, and this is their fight too whether they want it or not. Do you think they will be safe here if Roose Bolton remains Warden of the North?" She gets up now, moving to the table as if brimming with energy all of the sudden. He can only see the daggers…

"Sansa…"

"Winterfell is our home" She interrupts him softly, admonishing, like he was a child again and he did something wrong. "It is ours Jon. It is ours and Bran's, and Rickon's and Arya's wherever they are, it belongs to our family. It's our home and we have to fight for it…."

Her voice cuts like the last blow of a fight. The horn is shaking in his hands and he stares at them confused, is it him? Suddenly his shoulders are tense; He can feel in his knees the will to run away. His head is shaking before he knows it. For the Watch, he hears yet again.

"Jon…"

"We can go somewhere else…" His voice is forced. "We can ran and look for Arya and…"

"No." She cuts him. "No running Jon, we can't… Not anymore. We have to fight"

"I'm tired of fighting." He almost yelled, rising to his feet, the horn falls from his hands, spilling the contents before the fire, he paces nervously. The peace is gone, done with, it would never last. Years of hardships piling up and suddenly his heart is heavy, dropping… For the Watch… He stares at her. "Everything I've done since I left home, was fight! I fought wildlings, I fought my brothers, I killed men I admired I fought the dea..." He chokes on the last words, seeing her eyes meeting his. Blue eyes, hard like steel. "I lost, Sansa…"

"You're just gonna let everything behind? Just like that?!"

"You don't know what I've been through!"

"Neither do you!" She shouts now and he can hear the faint brush of the wind outside, like a punch to his gut. "It's not a matter of what happened to us Jon, it's a matter of what we choose to do now! Don't you see? If we don't take back the North we will never be safe. If we don't push back at once, we'll always be hunted and hurt to the edges of the world… I know this Jon. I know it… You speak of running and finding them, but you know that won't happen… The only way we will ever be safe, the only way we can ever have our family back is going home… To Winterfell!" There are unshed tears brimming inside her eyes now, but they simply seem to give weight to her strength. "I want you to help me Jon, but I'll do it alone if I have to."

Her words break him, he opens and closes his mouth not knowing what to say as her hand comes closer, traveling the small distance put between them, reaching for a delicate grasp. Jon finds her fingers intertwined with his in a gestured that hadn't reached him since his younger memories.

Was it so long ago when father had ushered him and Robb to his side, watching a little girl of six playing with dolls and told them to protect her? A time long passed when Jon had made a vow with Robb, with all the seriousness an eight year old could muster.

Shortly after that though she would learn about bastards and what they meant, and he would never again guide her hand around the courtyard.

The thought though held no strength, for now Jon just wanted to forget all that, he just wanted this. She was the last piece of Winterfell, the last piece of the home he had known, the home where he slept away from the family and sat at a distance in important feasts, where Lady Catelyn would look at him as if he had grayscale, where Father would offer hidden smiles and Robb would joke and pat his back, where Bran would climb walls and train with a bow, the home of Rickon's tiny steps and Arya's beaming smile… He felt completely defeated, and there was still doubt lurking inside his thoughts… For now though her hand was holding and urging him forward.


	6. SANSA III

SANSA

She spent her morning writing letters.

The parchment and ink waiting for her were still there since a young steward brought them that same morning at her request. It was a bland piece of it, calling her and pulling.

Silently, she took the quill by her side and, dipping it into the ink, she slowly formed the words of the first letter, going through the moves she learned under Maester Luwin, making each word into a piece of precision. She was always good at her letters, mother and father always said so, and every compliment and smile had meant the world to her.

It meant she was doing well, it meant she was fitting, close to being perfect. She was the lady that she was meant to be with all the sweetness, and kindness meant to enchant the people around her, so her presence alone should mean the betterment of a morning. That been so she became as good as she could in everything but numbers, she was dreadful at numbers, and now she did not even found that many spots of ink on her fingers, the skin still slightly pink from before.

It had been early in the morning when a young steward had come calling, Satin had announced two wildling women helping carry a tub and water for her bath. Lord Commander's request if the Lady approved, had been his words. Sansa had schooled her features not to jump at the opportunity, accepting everything graciously. The wildling women spoke not a word as she eat her breakfast, neither did they bow, instead they chatted for a long time and finally left.

Alone, Sansa had finally found enough courage to slip from the old wool gown she had worn since fleeing Winterfell. My home, she thought tracing a scar running by her tight. They hurt me and made me flee my own home. What sort of monster did such a thing? During bathing she had watched silently as the water became darker, and the warmth sent a cleansing sensation all the way to her toes. Scrubbing had been hard. Some scars had not healed completely, and the bruises would hurt with a simple touch, still she grimaced, pushed on and whimpered until her skin was pink and clean.

My skin has turned to porcelain to ivory to steel…

A silent tear run down her cheek as she rose and started dressing. When there was a rasping on the door and she heard Brienne, her voice had sounded sharper than she intended, as she finally tied her laces as best as she could. Offering only a small nod to her knight, Sansa sat by the table listening to the movement of the bath been taking away, while the letter began.

After a full night of sleep, Sansa knew she had no reason to wait longer even if she wished to know what Jon would do. Her brother had avoided speaking about anything concerning the Boltons so far. She would hear about letters sent to castles of the watch, and wildlings moving in and out of his quarters, but with only one day she had no idea what was truly in his mind, and the game waited for no one.

If she was to gather allies, she had to move before the grasp the Boltons had over the North became stronger and for that her claim had to be made clear. Using what she knew of the northern houses so far, she thought of Theon wondering briefly how he would feel about her words, before letting that felling go away to give space to her duty.

An so she had worked.

Measuring word after word, into sentences that let it be known of crimes and what justice meant. She called upon the legacy and honor due to her House and the promise of justice, she let it be known that the North was not without a leader. She wrote those letters for those who suffered under Bolton rule, for the crimes against the North. She wrote for courage, defiance and justice. She wrote for her past childhood murdered inside her own walls and for her family most of all.

She only realized time had passed when Brienne moved on her seat.

Sometimes Sansa forgot her knight was close. Brienne was good at not been noticed when she was not needed, which made Sansa wonder how she acquired such skills. She had learned things herself in Joffrey's court, choosing dresses that were pretty but would mix with the crowd, the walls and tapestries, doing anything not to call attention to herself and yet looking beautiful enough so if noticed it wouldn't be by a discontent king. Her resistance then had be a quiet one, of thoughts and careful words, courtesy had been her armor and she never dared to shed it. Something else the lady knight shared with her…

"You know you don't need to be on your toes all the time Brienne?" She asked signing up the scroll.

The woman still had her breastplate and gorget, with pauldrons covering her shoulders. She had no skirt, but her mail stood from under the plate reaching over her tights to the schynbalds and greaves. Gauntlets rested by her feet allowing her fingers to move over her horn. Almost everything, Sansa noticed, had been fashioned in a deep blue color just like Brienne's eyes in the right light. Sansa wondered if anyone else had noticed that.

"I don't mind Lady Sansa, there is no harm in been prepared."

"You judge I'm not safe with my brother?" She asked pouring sand over the letters. Brienne fidget, avoiding her eyes.

"N-no my lady, I judge your brother seems a decent enough man, but I've heard the song of Danny Flint, and those wildlings, that Tormund fellow is already a boisterous one, and the woman besides always has a knife on her…"

"She is protecting her baby I think. Jon said plenty of knights have mentioned bedding her because they think she is a princess." Sansa explained, although she was curious herself about the woman occupying her neighboring quarters she rarely saw her. "In her situation it is understandable, but I doubt anyone would try anything with a giant at our door."

"The giant…" Brienne hesitated. "I always heard foul tales about them…"

"I did as well" Sansa had plenty of memories about Old Nan's stories, although the giants were not always evil. They were only evil creatures in scary stories, stories Bran loved and that she hated. "But as far as I can tell Wun Wun is rather kind, clumsy but kind."

"It is the clumsy part that worries me my Lady, this morning he almost sat on a wagon."

Sansa smirked. "I'm sure he is aware of that." She poured the small amount of wax and sealed the letter. The watch had not many colors to choose from, but Satin had found a darker grey wax amongst his supplies, which Sansa slowly shaped into a wolf seal. "And how is Podrick?"

"He is well" A warm smiled settled on Brienne's face, it happened every time she spoke of her squire. "I put him to practice with the other recruits, it will do good for him to fight new people. He has no talent with a sword, but he is dedicate to learn. He is good with horses and can treat his mount as well as any master, he does his tasks well and fully, he doesn't slack and, most important, he knows right from wrong and has diligence and loyalty to spare…" The knight stopped as if now she realized how much she spoke, Sansa merely smiled as she cleared her throat. "Apologies, my Lady"

"Nonsense, compliments should never be spared if they are true"

Brienne nodded, cleaning her throat again. "He will be a fine knight someday."

"A true knight" Sansa had seen enough fight hungry men to know Podrick was beyond merely swinging a sword around. Podrick was gentle and kind and, like Brienne said, he knew right from wrong. Sansa shivered. Neatly, she took a new scroll from the pile and, biting her lower lip, contemplated her words to address whoever ruled the Iron Islands at the moment.

Later she had her load of letters done and rose from her seat. From one door of the tower she could hear a baby crying, the sound fading slowly when she came out to the daylight. Wun Wun was having a conversation outside with the wildling who could speak his language. Men moved around pushing barrels and running errands and once Sansa thought she caught a glimpse of Jon before he disappeared into the Commander's Tower. When she and Brienne finally arrived at the rookery they found an old man named Clydas who worked as a maester, although he wasn't a maester at all.

"I was just Maester Aemon's eyes, my lady" He explained as he prepared the ravens. "I never really saw the citadel, never even knew much of it until Maester Aemon spoke about it. He used to have plenty of tales of his learning there. I mostly just copied him when I can."

"You're unnecessarily humble, I found that even to mimic a certain behavior it is expected a certain level of wits." She told him, as the first ravens took flight under his gentle laugh, taking her words away to Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, Torhen's Square and Bear Island, White Harbor and Karhold and even Pyke…

To all of them she wrote as Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell.

Even as the last raven disappeared towards the south she stood there, flanked by Clydas and Brienne, wondering if an answer might appear the next time she blinked. Was this how you felt when you called the banners Robb? Did you feel this same fear? This same trembling spreading through your body, knowing everything was hanging on the hands of other people's loyalty?

No matter what, she promised to be brave like him. That she could do.

Shyly she glanced at the man again, making one last request for the day. He seemed shocked, Brienne not so much.

"I'm afraid I don't have much use for it, my lady, but the wildling women are known to be capable of brewing it. I might have to ask them."

"So be it…" She hesitated. "And thank you…"

"Of course, my lady."

Deciding not to remain idle Sansa walked through the snowy courtyard later that afternoon. She could see plenty of wildlings, men and woman, lying around sharpening spears or chatting. Men of the watch worked hard around, repairing a broken gate that Wun Wun had apparently stormed through while a small group huddled together in shadows simply seemed to avoid everyone, broken men from a broken army. Slowly she made her way to the Lord Commander's chamber. Dolorous Edd was actually an interesting man, gloomier than Jon in some ways, but also cheerful and Sansa had liked him if only for being Jon's friend. He was not truly Lord Commander, but seemed to be the one giving orders for Jon lately.

"We don't have much, needle and line that is, we usually use what little we know of sewing for repairs, and mostly we have black cloth only. Maybe some gray as well" He was telling her now. "Although there is plenty of discarded clothing from dead brothers. Things they wore when they come here, before taking the black. I'll ask Jared to take a look."

"It would do nicely" Sansa accepted, and smiled.

Later, she spent the day sewing, something she was very good at. It was one of the conquests she felt most proud during her youth. It had been many moons of hard work and practice, hurting her fingers again and again until she finally received the first compliments from the septa and her mother and now those feelings slowly made a comfort new presence sooth her nerves as the direwolf came to life with her needle.

She remained in that task for a long time and eventually her temper wavered. I'll do it myself if I have to. Sansa had meant every word of it, and yet she found it was easy to give up when the last piece of home seemed so distant. The sewing became a task all too soon and then a fight. This is for war as well, just like the letters.

When night finally fell she was satisfied with her work for the day. Her meal consisted on a black sausage, which had more fat than meat, with boiled onions and two eggs which she eat greedily as she observed the moon rising. Her eyes would not close, wondering what nightmares would haunt her later. Her hearth was lit and burning, but the cold was soothing and fresh on her skin, as if it could wipe out her suffering, heal her soul and banish the dark thoughts that seemed awaken after so long. The tiny cup, brought to her with the meal, trembled in her hands. The windows rattled under the wind.

Was it wrong that sometimes she would imagine people freezing out there? Those who hurt her most of all? When the world hurts us we want to hurt it back…

It was another sad thought. There had been so many, that one made her think of the Hound, bragging about his kills in King's Landing. In that moment she made a promise to herself, one made only to her own sick heart.

"Would you watch me for the night Brienne?" She asked feeling the knight's eyes boring on her back.

"Of course my lady."

Once upon a time it seemed she was broken forever… But I survived, and I'm here… This was different, she decided. Different from that day when she could so easily had killed Joffrey in exchange for her own life…

I'll survive… I'll survive and keep moving as long as I can… I'm steel…

Shuddering, she drank from the cup in one go.

The moon hid under clouds of white mist, and the winds blew like the breath of the ice dragon from Old Nan's tales. She could almost hear its shrieks of delight out there, triumphant roar for winter had arrived and nothing would chain it again.

In the night the wolves howled with it, brothers in arms seeking out prey under white snows, while blizzards drowned the realms of men one by one and the dead were too many to count, for Winter was death…

The trees were everywhere once the night fell.

They were pale with leaves of dripping red, singing a soft lullaby as they reached the soil. The first thing she noticed was they were not weirwoods, but something twisted and sick. Fog crept from between them slowly like ghosts, haunting the living. Wolves howled yet again and the breath of the ice dragon passed by leaving the trees covered by a shiny layer of frost, yet the soil was warm under her feet and shivering skin.

She walked ahead, and always ahead.

Hands trembling, she became aware of the claws and teeth before she noticed the figure held in the trees' pale branches. They were like tendrils, wrapping around his frame, piercing skin and bone, sunk into a terrible laugh. Beside him another figure, full of sun and wormy lips sneered with a sadistic glee and somehow she knew he was basking in whatever suffering he had inflicted on her.

They were there, she realized slowly. A golden queen and a ugly face with white armor. Pale blue eyes and sharp teeth like knives… They were all there and she was thirsty… Yes she was thirsty as well… So thirsty…

The blood was warm while it splashed on her skin, leaving corpses around her vengeful frenzy, calling for her to continue… To hurt more, to kill more… She was a wolf and the moon was calling for the kill… She was the wrath of winter and they would feel it… Claws sunk and blood poured away until her muscles hurt and her breath came out ragged, small rivulets of scarlet run from the mutilated corpses and around her own frame. Swirling droplets and small rivulets. The pond was dark, made of darkness and the blood seemed to disappear into it.

Reaching out with a wisp of curiosity she tried to see inside, but only met her own reflex, falling hair and rotten skin covered in blood.

No…

The blood burned through and the peak she felt before now was fiery.

They deserve it! They deserve it!

Her skin was smoking and she screamed like the ice dragon himself, her own eyes were red with hatred… Crying melted ice…


	7. JON II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable text from "A Dance With Dragons"

JON

They all sat inside his chambers, chairs spread around his table. Iron Emmett took Satin's offer of wine, sipping quietly and only nodding when he was announced as the new First Ranger, much like Edd as the man sat still like a stone. Clydas pulled at his robes, but showed nothing beyond mild curiosity, while Tormund chewed on the leg of a chicken that was suppose to be Jon's meal, his appetite was far away from everything else.

The only man with no reaction from his part was Lord Davos, the Hand of the King was away from the others staring intently at the fire. His only reaction was occasionally look up at Val when the spearwife coughed.

"Ser Denys writes the Weeper has tried to attack the Bridge of Skulls before any terms could be delivered. He threw them back and reckons he has enough men to hold any new attack, but requires instructions on how to proceed." Jon told the small council he had gathered. "I would hear your thoughts."

"The weeper is a nasty fellow Jon" Edd said with a frown.

Iron Emmett was nodding himself "Even in the Eastwatch we heard the tales of him plucking out rangers' eyes."

"Even Mance had troubles keeping that one in check Lord Crow" Val spoke from her place, her eyes were the only ones amongst the free folk that didn't stare at him with awe, for which he was thankful.

"Just kill him then" Tormund grumbled. "I might do it if you want, a proper fight."

"We might offer a deal as well" Clydas suggested.

"Kill him and you can enter?" Dolorous Edd smiled ruefully, his eyes seeing past Jon. "My mother used to say that about the son who eat too much. It was never me though, always ended up with the tail of the rat."

"I always wondered where your humor came from" Jon suggested with a tentative smile.

"If you do that his men will see to it, but they would always resent you" Val pointed out, something Jon already knew.

"Then what do we do?" Clydas asked.

"We take hostages" Edd suggested. "I bet there are parents amongst the wildlings as well. Parents love their children."

"Aye they do" Emmett agreed. "We offer safe passage and guest rights, but the Weeper must be one of the hostages. If we make it clear we won't kill anyone, his own men might pressure him into agreeing, unless I'm reading the situation wrong?" His questioning eyes bore into Tormund and Val.

"No, yee crow is right. The deadmen might be pressing them even now, so his people will be desperate."

"Good" Jon sighed, satisfied. It seemed almost better than he had hoped, to see them coming to a reasonable conclusion. Slowly he placed another scroll over the table. "Cotter Pyke writes that the first shipment of dragonglass arrived from Dragonstone, I'm not sure what will happen once they know of Stannis' death though. He also informed that a thousand freefolk were offered passage in Eastwatch, a dozen were giants with mammoths. I would ask for someone who can speak the Old Tongue to guide them here Tormund."

"Can do"

"Maybe someone that can bring them a warning and a request, you will know soon enough." He saw their puzzled expressions, all of them except Davos, and reached for a parchment well kept under his drawers. "I would also recommend you continue to prioritize bow and arrow practice over the sword, it is the best way to fight atop the wall. Some giants will be staying behind, I believe they can help with repairs as well. Try and find a builder more open minded about their use."

There was a pause as they grasped the meaning of his words, he was opening the scroll atop the table slowly. Val was staring at him curiously, Clydas seemed to have pity imprinted on his eyes while Tormund, Edd and Emmett seemed eager to know his thoughts. None of them killed me, he reminded himself. His burned hand opened and closed.

He spread the parchment at the table, keeping the corners down with his dagger. "I made this contract with the Iron Bank of Bravos when Stannis arrived. If things go bad, this should provide enough to bring food from the east and the south in hard times"

"Jon" The use of his name was a request as much as to get his attention. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Emmett's got the right question there" Edd said frowning at the contract.

He stood silently, working his arguments in his mind and there were some many of them. You killed me, a angry terrible voice tried to scream. I have to leave, this isn't my place. I failed…. Most of all he thought of her eyes opening on his bed, and the way she almost coughed when she reached for his beer. He felt the warmth driving him forward, which was something he thought he had left behind at Winterfell.

The knock took him away from his thoughts as Mully opened the door before he could answer. "M'lord, everyone is waiting in the Shieldhall as you requested."

"Thanks Mully, we'll join them shortly" He said, waiting until the door was close again. His eyes fell into Val. "I will talk more later, meet me in the Shieldhall with everyone else." Slowly, each one of them rose, Clydas' gaze lingering on the parchment resting at the corner of the table. The letter had arrived only that morning, and had only made Jon's decision easier to follow. "Lord Davos, a word."

He waited for the man to take a sit. Davos Seaworth had stricken him as a good and honest man the short time he had met him. Dutiful to his king and never too busy to offer a word when needed. And he protect me, even after I had not even life in my body. Now he seemed a broken man, out of duty, out of loyalties, alone in a cold country.

"I sent word to Eastwatch to hold their sails, in case you decide to go home" He told the man now waiting for a reaction, but his eyes were fixed on the table. "I only ask that you send as much dragonglass as you can from Dragonstone. There are still Baratheon men as well, at least two hundredth survivors fled here and I'm sure you would want to look after them."

The man nodded, almost seeming like a green boy instead of the last bastion of House Baratheon. Jon held his pity back, watching, until finally the Hand of a dead king spoke. "What did you do with the Red Woman?"

He knew the question would come sooner or later, and he only wondered if the answer would do any good to the man. He could understand his need for justice better than anyone. His own words traded with Melissandre still puzzled him.

She had been waiting for him, as he expected she would be, alone in the chambers that had once been for Queen Selyse. Her robes were still the color of blood, and the bruises were still visible where her necklace had bitten her skin under Lord Davos' strength.

"Came to take my life Lord Snow?" She had asked in a defeated voice, as if the result of it were no real matter, it held very little of her old power.

"Can't you tell?"

"I can tell very little lately" She said, staring up at him with those terrible red eyes. "But I know I can't die here today"

"And why not?"

"Because you're going to need me." She stated, her ruby glommed against the fire seeming dull and lacking in comparison to the past. "When the Long Night finally comes, you will need someone to help you, someone who knows the Lord as I do…"

Jon shook his head, frustrated. "That is the same speech from before."

"You're the chosen Lord Snow. You rose from death, Azor Ahai reborn, I know it…"

"Pardon me if I don't wish to be part of that trap" The farthest I get from it the better, had been his exact thoughts.

"Yet you can't deny the power that brought you back"

"I don't deny the power" He answered, seeming surprising her or maybe not. He was never sure about that woman. Melissandre rose from her seat slowly, it seemed for a moment that she would approach like in other times when his personal space didn't seem to matter, but instead she glided over to the window.

"What did you see Lord Snow?" He bit his lips, thinking back to the darkness that had greeted him, he thought back to the smells and visions, everything a blur. "What did you see on the other side?"

"You burned princess Shirren…" He said instead of answering, her red eyes met his gray ones.

"I did" Was that a sign of shame he detected on her voice? Jon could never be sure. "I'm flawed like any of the Lord's servants, unfortunately."

"So how can you be so sure I'm going to need you? If you could set me astray so easily?" The question seemed reasonable enough for him, and Melissandre seemed taken aback for a moment. She gazed upon the fire again but offered no answer.

"I was under the king's orders when I gave the child to the flames." She said in a practiced manner and Jon had sighed, for in that was the heart of the problem. She had followed orders from a king and now there was no one left to judge her actions. Lord Davos could do it, but for that to happen they would have a fight. From the Baratheon men left there were still those who worshiped the Red God, and Jon wanted none of that. He would not violate guest rights either.

He could do it. He knew he could, even as an anger burned inside him to judge every wrong in the word with the same justice he delivered Ser Alliser and the rest, but the Watch was still not part of the realm, and her crimes were against the realm. His negotiation with the Red Woman had lasted hours.

"I banished her from the North" He told Davos now, watching for his reaction. His eyes never wavered from the floor, his fingers clutched the cloth of his trousers as if seeking the woman's neck once more. Slowly, Jon judged it was time to fill the silence. "Do you mind coming with me, my lord?"

"I'm not a lord, just a smuggler"

"You were Hand of the King" Jon said to that. "And I would ask something of you."

Outside he stayed behind and let out a sigh as he watched the Wall, still there, looming over him like a calling, but that voice was barely something that he could hear right now. I'm not a lad anymore. I did my duty…

Now his answer was elsewhere.

He found Sansa inside her chambers, just as he was about to call her to the Shieldhall. She was alone, needle work and furs strewn across her bed and a map of the north spread above the table, under her intense stare. She looked tired, with dark spots under her eyes, the only good thing was that she seemed to finally be putting on some weight, for which he was glad.

She should be home. He thought suddenly. She should be home, petting her own wolf, dreaming her own dreams, and having everyone compliment her kindness and beauty. Instead she was there, bracing the world and he was trying to convince her otherwise, to abandon all hope and run… And he really would rather run, there was no fight left in him, his muscles felt heavy like lead, his eyes were always threatening to close and when he glanced at Longclaw he saw only the blood and the beast… But when she said she would take Winterfell alone, he could see she meant it, truly… And how could he dare to think otherwise?

"What are you doing?" He had asked, surprised by the sight, until her face, covered by that mask of steel, looked up.

"I'm not sure." She licked her lips briefly. "Brienne has been helping, but I know nothing about battles."

He came to stand by her side, pursing his lips as plans he had been thinking on ever since he heard about Robb's death seemed to be awaken inside his mind. He could see now, the men moving over the snow, the spears and smoking breaths in the cold and the road appearing over meadows and hills of white.

"The Boltons could raise almost four thousand men from their lands, judging that they came out of the Red Wedding undamaged, they would be the strongest house of the North now."

"Half of those men would be levies."

"The problem with marching to Winterfell" He continued relentlessly. "Is that the Castle stands at the heart of the North. To gather any army strong enough from the other houses you would have to link them somewhere. But from Winterfell they can attack any part of your army and move on to the next."

"You have an army of two thousand here"

Jon bit his lips, about to argue again, when Sansa placed her hand upon Last Hearth. "The Umbers were always loyal to us, they have men."

"Not enough, and the Greatjon was a hostage as far as Stannis knew. Besides, if you have the Umbers, the Karstarks will easily side with the Boltons."

"The Glovers will be against them." Jon blinked, staring at her. Sansa didn't smile, but her face showed certainty. "They will and with them we have all the small houses from the Wolfswood and men from the western fishing villages."

"The Glovers are as weakened as everyone else." He said sighing, and biting his lip. Stannis had no need for this plan, but he had often thought of it. "The only way to match the Boltons fast and be ready to march south without complications, will be to gather support from the mountain clans" He finally confessed. "Three thousand men I gather, fit to fight in the snow, even their mounts can fight in the worst conditions."

"I remember Father visiting them" She recalled. "There are no ravens to that place."

"We'll have to go personally"

"So it's we now?" Sansa questioned quietly, yet he could see a small break of her mask, a tug at her lips indicating a smile. He gulped and silently become her to follow him. Instead of walking as he expected she wrapped her arm around his ans silently Jon found himself escorting her through the snowy courtyard the Wall looming over him like a silent judge.

I have to be elsewhere now. He told it, remembering his silent vow to his father's ghost.

The Shieldhall was one of the older parts of Castle Black, a long drafty feast hall of dark stone, its oaken rafters black with the smoke of centuries. Back when the Night's Watch had been much larger, its walls had been hung with rows of brightly colored wooden shields. Then as now, when a knight took the black, tradition decreed that he set aside his former arms and take up the plain black shield of the brotherhood. The shields thus discarded would hang in the Shieldhall.

Hundreds of knights meant hundreds of shields. Hawks and eagles, dragons and griffins, suns and stags, wolves and wyverns, manticores, bulls, trees and flowers, harps, spears, crabs and krakens, red lions and golden lions and chequy lions, owls, lambs, maids and mermen, stallions, stars, buckets and buckles, flayed men and hanged men and burning men, axes, longswords, turtles, unicorns, bears, quills, spiders and snakes and scorpions, and a hundred other heraldic charges had adorned the Shieldhall walls, blazoned in more colors than any rainbow ever dreamed of.

But when a knight died, his shield was taken down, that it might go with him to his pyre or his tomb, and over the years and centuries fewer and fewer knights had taken the black. A day came when it no longer made sense for the knights of Castle Black to dine apart. The Shieldhall was abandoned. In the last hundred years, it had been used only infrequently. As a dining hall, it left much to be desired—it was dark, dirty, drafty, and hard to heat in winter, its cellars infested with rats, its massive wooden rafters worm-eaten and festooned with cobwebs.

But it was large and long enough to seat two hundred, and half again that many if they crowded close. When Jon entered, it was hardly empty, however slowly it became full as the people started to arrive.

The wildlings outnumbered the crows by five to one, judging by how little black he saw. Fewer than a dozen shields remained, sad grey things with faded paint and long cracks in the wood. But fresh torches burned in the iron sconces along the walls, since the current garrison had increased. Men with comfortable seats were more inclined to listen, Maester Aemon had once told him; standing men were more inclined to shout.

Jon and Sansa were standing in the high platform at the back, watching as chatting became talk, each and every person wondering what business had brought them here. He saw Tormund moving to be closer, just as Davos.

The talk was loud and Jon turned to Horse who took a horn out of his belt and blew, the sound bringing everyone to silence. He stared at Sansa briefly and she offered him a small nod that was enough to make him talk.

"I summoned you all here, to hear dire news and make a few announcements." He said, watching faces changing to somber mood. Dim Dalba, Wick Whittlestick, Left Hand Lew, and Alf of Runnymudd were to his left. To his right Soren Shieldbreaker sat with his arms crossed against his chest. Farther back, Jon saw Gavin the Trader and Harle the Handsome whispering together. Ygon Oldfather sat amongst his wives, Howd Wanderer alone. Borroq, a fearsome wildling warg with a boar, leaned against a wall in a dark corner. Mercifully, his boar was nowhere in evidence. He reached for the letter then, a piece of parchment full of threats and anger, the bits of pink wax still visible.

The Shieldhall burst all of the sudden.

Every man began to shout at once. They leapt to their feet, shaking fists. Swords were brandished, axes smashed against shields. Jon Snow looked to Tormund. The Giantsbane was yelling as loud as everyone else, bursting his fist in the table angrily. Jon turned to Horse again and nodded, seeing Sansa grimacing at the sound, the sight was funny and he felt some of his tension ebbing away.

He turned to the hall again.

"The Night's Watch takes no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms," Jon reminded them when some semblance of quiet had returned. "However I'm not of the Night's Watch anymore" He said, seeing the quiet reaching everyone at once.

"What are you talking about crow?" Barroq shouted.

"Jon?" Dolorous Edd asked frowning, as if he knew.

"I fulfilled my vows!" He said. "It shall not end until my death! My watch has ended! I didn't break my vows and I won't ask the Night's Watch to do the same! So before I leave I give you one last command naming Dollorous Edd Lord Commander until such a time as voting can be put forth." There was grumbling and silence as they took in the news, but Jon couldn't know of a better man. Despite his personality Edd had been squire to Lord Commander Mormong for years and knew the ins and outs of the Watch as well as any man.

The new Lord Commander was wise enough to only nod despite his obvious reluctance and Jon almost regretted his trap now, but there nothing he could do.

He took in the free folk now, more to his right. "The Bastard of Bolton is a danger to the North though, a danger to us all, that could very well mean victory to the Others in the Long Night. He wants to kill you, and anyone he might see as a traitor. He hunts women for sport and takes skins from those who disobey. We intend to face him."

"Alone?" Edd asked, abashed.

"Aye" Jon smirked. "Unless someone else wants to join us"

The roar was all he could have hoped for, the tumult so loud that the two old shields tumbled from the walls. Soren Shieldbreaker was on his feet, the Wanderer as well. Toregg the Tall, Brogg, Harle the Huntsman and Harle the Handsome both, Ygon Oldfather, Blind Doss, even the Great Walrus.

"We follow you crow" Tormund said banging his horn at the table.

Jon turned to Sansa. Her eyes were shinning and her lips turned upwards, a smile just for him.

We have our army, he thought. We're going home.


	8. THEON

THEON

My name is Theon. He repeated again, clutching the warm furs to his person and trying to seek safety in his own arms. It was not as cold or horrible as it could be, not even close. Considering everything, his past nights had been filled with more comfort than anything he remembered feeling.

Castle Black itself had been full of empty quarters, the leftovers of an order that once numbered almost ten thousand strong, but that now was but the shadow of a shadow. The leftovers of the realm and he could actually choose a bed, even through the cold it was good. Out here it was much the same. They traveled by day and slept by night, and he had enough furs that he was better off than with the Watch. And he could choose a soft spot of land and sleep with no worries.

Reek never got to choose, he was lucky to sleep with the dogs and even luckier to have a cloak to get warm. But I'm not Reek, not anymore. I'm Theon. Theon could choose, and Theon was worthy something, Theon was worthy two children and I'm Theon.

The Old Gods knew my name.

In Winterfell, even then they remembered.

He had delivered Sansa's plans to Ramsay, he told his master about her, about how she would try to escape. It had been a kindness, he repeated to himself as he heard the sounds through the door. Had his master caught her trying to escape, the punishment would be worst. Had he caught her it would be unbearable and he would break her, just like him.

None of that made him feel better though.

Just broken. Broken. You should have died with Robb. Where were you when he died?

That night he had not slept, Sansa's cries echoing in his head softly and desperate under the gaze of a man with a wolf's head. Eyes like molten gold stared at him and hated. No… please… It's not my fault… And he whimpered under his nightmares. I was trying to help her… I'm just Reek! I'm Reek… That is all I can do… But the eyes never looked away and after some time it seemed his own heart was a melting pool of gold…

It was only fair, he thought in his despair, it was fair.

From the moment he burned that letter in Pike his fate was settled. He was Reek, forever Reek, it rhymes with meek. He walked around Winterfell again at the time. With Sansa there, he had been almost left to himself, as long as he stayed away from the bastard's boys everything would be fine, so he walked and wondered, watching the place that had been a home. But it was never my home, my home was at the sea. This place is far away from the sea.

And yet his memories were all from here, from the north. The first time he picked up steel, the first time he kissed and the first time he had a woman. He saw himself laughing and smirking, he saw himself under Robb's gaze and suddenly his steps stopped, crunching the snow beneath.

The weirwood was staring him down.

How did I get here? He had wondered, remembering. I played here with them, but I was never one of them. He told the heart tree. I was a ward, a hostage. It doesn't matter that Robb would challenge me for a snow ball fight. It doesn't…

But it did.

Theon…

I'm Reek, it rhymes with Freak.

Theon. The heart tree had said, thick and soft, like the rustle of leaves and the silent pain of a sister. Theon….

He remembered crying them. No… I'm Reek… Please…

He wanted the tree to stop, but his name came like the lashes of a whip. They were just farm boys, I never even touched them. But when he looked up the weirwood seemed angry, its face assuming familiarity, with eyes that judged and pitied him and he had not known which one was worst as he collapsed in heaving sobs with the molting heart burning his soul.

He was numb and hurt the next time he found her in the bedroom. Next time when there was an arrow pointed at her chest and her eyes refused to back down. When the horns of battle called and the only escape was to jump, he still remembered those eyes, Robb's eyes… Brave eyes... So like her own as she stared from atop the battlements and he knew she had made up her mind… She offered him her hand and they jumped.

They did. They escaped. Everything was fine, he remembered thinking. I'll bring her to Jon and he'll kill me and then he would finally rest. It would certainly be fine to rest, to be away from the pain… And it was fair too…

"The sun is up, Turncloack, time to rise." The voice scared him and for a moment he recoiled, trying to seem as small as possible as he did back in the Dreadfort until he realized the man was not going to kick him. He eyed the figure slowly, a broad shouldered man, bald with a thick beard, holding a spear and wrapped in dark clothing.

He was looking at him with eyes that told him to obey and so he did.

He limped into a small fire surrounded by his escorts and accepted a bowl from the man in black, his hand warming instantly against the cold morning. He saw that the bowl was full of soup, hardly any meat, but the vegetable were soft enough that they didn't hurt his broken teeth. He held back a cackle and slurped the meal happily.

They were treating him really well this men, they had been traveling for a fortnight and none of them had kicked him or threatened him yet. Well, they did call him turncloak, but it seemed to be his name more than an insult… It was far better than Ramsay's men would do though, far better than he deserved, so he said nothing as they helped him mount his horse. Barely able to ride alone with his weak body and aching stumps, his mount was tied to the lead rider, so he only had to grit his teeth and hold tight through the journey.

As they raced across the north from east to west, Theon wondered how Sansa was doing. She had been kind to him, and Jon ignored him instead of beating him and that was kind as well. And he could help them as well, he was doing it right now, by going to the place that had rejected him, a place he feared a place that, he was surprise to find, he was afraid of seeing again.

Ironborn he was not, that had become clear to him. He never was.

He uncles mocked him, his men mocked him even his father mocked him and now there was only Yara, and she mocked him the most. But she said yes, he remembered, so maybe she cared. She had come to rescue him too, that one time, but she failed, I failed… I was weak… I was Reek still, and she didn't understand…

I was Reek, and Reek can only cower…

As Theon I can save two boys. He thought feeling less guilty. That was what Sansa said after all.

It had been a scare when he was brought to the Commander's chambers, left out by a corner as if nobody truly cared that he was listening. And why should them? I'm nothing, not really… It was the same with Ramsay and Roose, they talked and talked and never cared that he listened. But Sansa had cared, the whole conversations she stole glances at him and all he could do was whimper and look away as heard words… White Harbor and Last Hearth… Greatjon… Hostages… Mountain Clans and spearwives... And then suddenly he was alone before Jon Snow and Sansa, both of them standing there before him, like ghosts of Lord and Lady Stark ready to punish him, but all Sansa did was ask something of him. She asked, she never ordered, and how could he say no? So shivered and stammered and offered a shaking nod.

When Yara retreated from the North, and the Ironborn left most of their small conquest behind, she took a prize with her. Robett Glover's children, the newborn Erena and little Gawen, leaving Lady Sybelle behind when the Deepwood Motte was retaking by northern forces. So a deal was made. He would go to his sister, and the little Glovers would come back home, that was the deal.

And so he would go, to Pyke, to his sister. His sibling. Not as Robb, the sibling he betrayed, the sibling he forgot and whose memory sent jolts of pain too great to put into words. I deserved to lose my fingers… He knows, he always knew. I deserved everything, he thinks staring at his mangled hand and the toes missing from his feet, and yet Yara was better than Marron and Rodrik ever were.

At least she never beat me… He thought cackling. She just humiliated me in front of Father and my men.

And yet, even this, he deserved, even as he and his guards came up a small hill and glimpsed the distant ship waiting out at the sea. In the beach there was a small party of men, two children between them and above them the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. Greyjoy... The name taste hollow and somehow hurtful...

He couldn't remember saying farewells to his father or Yara... He did remember his last Farewell to Robb... And Sansa...

She had been waiting for him in the Courtyard, talking, her hair a red flame amongst the snows. "You'll deliver him safely, and allow no harm to come to him" She instructed his escorts then, a dozen black brothers given by the Lord Commander. "We must not give the ironborn a reason to hurt our hostages"

After the man, the same that woke him every morning, had nodded, she looked at him and he had tried not to flinch. "Theon..." Theon, his name is Theon…

"My lady…"

"I hope you can find your way" She tells him slowly as they talked privately, away from the men her smile turns sad. "It'll be hard, but I really hoped you can have the strength to do it."

"I don't…"

"No one does" Her eyes are shining now and Theon blinks, looking away. How could she show such a compassion to a broken thing like him? Even if he saved her life... "No one deserves this things, justice shouldn't be about cruelty as much as we wish it…"

In his first days, Theon had thought often about taking revenge, but these thoughts were far away. Did she think of revenge now? He wondered as the sails got closer and the gold of the Kraken flapped in the wind, running from his eyes. How much does she want to hurt Ramsay? It is her soft touch to his cheek that makes Theon look up. The last faint smile she offered, kind of sad, kind of determined... Like the smile Robb had when they said goodbye to one another.

"I'll make things right" She told him.

Sansa Stark… Her name was Stark, never Bolton, always Stark… She remembers her name, and so do I…

His name was Theon and it was how his brother used to call him...


	9. DAVOS

DAVOS

His past felt like stone and his future, a endless sea of fog.

Fog that could take many shapes, and reveal many things, safe harbor, or cliffs and rock in shallow waters. Right then, he almost expected to find a pit and the edge world.

When he saw the war galley, he felt his hopes sinking, like a ship on a storm after been battered and chastised for way too long. It was the inevitable end, when the keel finally caved, the wood cracked and all that was left to do after a lifetime of traveling the seas was to let it sink. It felt like the ships Salla had lost during a autumn storm, two of his best he claimed, driven to the rocks, sunk by waves and crashing skies.

"You own me my friend, you own me a lot"

"You've been paid" Davos had reminded the man. The Iron Bank gave them a good amount of gold for his services, and Davos knew he was owned at least this small venture. Luckily he knew Lady Brienne was already far away, in her own ship sailing to the riverlands. The woman had come to him before their departure, he was not sure why, but she did, and she spoke of his dying king.

"I found him dying in the snows..." She said, her voice fading away to some memory.

"Did you..."

"I didn help him Ser… I couldn't..."

"Why?" He questioned, not sure of what he was hoping to hear.

"Because he told me to do my duty, and Lady Sansa was in danger" their conversation ended then and now his own retinue of Salla's fleet sailed up the White Knife, towards White Harbor, finding finally a relief from the storms.

There are many storms these days.

Inside his old battered tunic he could feel the parchments yet, sealed with the direwolf of house Stark, for the eyes of Lord Manderly himself. Who would have thought I would be here like this? Everything because of a few onions.

He had been a broken man when the Red Woman came into Castle Black. His king, Stannis, was dead with all his family, and suddenly any purpose he had in life had disappeared, just like the lives of his sons in the Blackwater. Swiftly brushed aside like a pile of ashes. At least it was a quick ending though… Davos liked to think that. His own life felt like it had been burning for a while, the smoldering remains of firewoods of which the shape could still be seen.

He gave his life for his king, a man that was hard and strong as few he had witnessed. Yet, something had broken. He would never know what or when, but something broke within Stannis Baratheon, Davos was sure of it.

Sacrifice… is never easy Lord Davos…

No it was not. Davos knew that, he knew it better than most. He sacrificed his children at Blackwater, sacrifice his quite life for the court of a king. He gambled in hopes his sons could be better and have a place in the world, never knowing poverty or hunger. He sacrificed years he could have been with Marya…

Even now Davos thought of his wife with sorrow. He had been unfair to her, leaving her behind to raise their youngest. I was not there even when she received the news about our children's deaths. He could even now imagine her crying, taking prayers to the Seven, sewing by the window.

She had been just as sweet. She would be a brave woman as well, and kind and intelligent.

Who put a g in night?

She taught you how to read. In his mind's eye he could still remember the red woman's confession, like poison, leeching him of any sense. His hands had wrapped around her throat there, and gods he would have done it. Davos knew he would have. Why didn't I? He asked himself, his fury and wrath wavering to give space to a deep sadness. The glimpse he caught under a spark of red, of an old aging face stood with him even now and still, Davos was not sure of what his eyes had seen. He didn't care either…

His King was dead and Davos almost forgot…

His King who always saw his duty as something sacred.

I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I'm king, I have a duty… A hard man who knew hard truths. And he would have been a good king, even now, Davos refused to doubt that. He punished the wrongs and rewarded the good, he save the realm from the wildlings and promised justice and yet knew no love for it. Not even from his brothers, not even from his wife. There was me though and her…. If I must sacrifice one child to the flames, to save a million from the dark… Sacrifice... Is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice.

In the end he had done it. Davos thought he had purged such thoughts from his king, stopped him from justifying his means with his end. Instead he sent me away and broke under the snows...

Who put a g in night?

"Where will you go?" The Lord Commander had asked, when he came to see him. The young Jon Snow, back to life. Davos had swore he wouldn't let his fate be the same as Stannis', and yet the question had caught him by surprise. He knew where he wanted to go.

Home...To Cape Wrath and to his wife. To Marya and his sons. In his mind he had worked a route to stop at Dragonstone, take Devan and then find his way back home, to little Stannis and Steffon, his youngest. He would forget about kings, queens, lords and wars forever, or until the Others came calling, but he voiced none of those thoughts.

We do not choose our destinies. Yet we must ... we must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty.

But where was his duty now? Inevitably he was given parchment and messages, and Lady Sansa had blessed him with a smile and wished him good winds in his travels. He had said yes to help them, to help the Starks.

It seemed to be… No, it was what his king would have wanted. That thought convinced him enough and helped him forget the princess, for those thoughts were too painful to conceive.

He packed from Castle Black with his meager belongings, and the few Baratheon men left, wondering if he was walking to his death still and bringing more people with him. Then he reached Eastwatch and his courage was tested once more.

The shipment of Dragonglass had arrived under the command of Justin Massey, and his son, Devan, had come with it, eagerly hugging him and asking news from the battle. They died… Was all he muster to say to his lad and the men.

Did I bring one more son to his death? He wondered now watching the harbor ahead.

The Lionstar was a big war galley, decorated with lions, golden lion, roaring, rearing, clawing away at the winds. Davos saw the banners of house Lannister and Baratheon flying atop its sails, he watched the big oars and the men sailing it. They all looked like common fishermen, he thought, and wondered why that was.

"Last chance to come with me my friend" Salla said from his back. "The sea calls I say, riches and women for us all, away from this cursed cold as well."

Davos Seaworth thought about it, and by the gods he felt tempted. To ran from the storms, to go deep into the sea. To sail away into his simple life once again and abandon this ungrateful tasks. To feel the winds on his cheeks once more, the salty taste of the air as his heart beat stronger and younger… Yes, he wanted that. Maybe Marya would like to come with him as well. They would all live in the sea and wasn't that a mad dream? He glanced at Devan by his side, his young boy glared intently at the Lannister ship anchored before White Harbor's walls.

"They are ready for war father" His son pointed out, motioning to the trebuchets, catapults and bowmen manning the walls to the port under the banners of the House Manderly, showing the merman against the green-blue of the sea. Indeed, they are. He felt the parchments at his tunic yet again.

"You'll go home my son"

"No" The lad's voice was determined and angry. "Father, I was supposed to be the King's squire, but now he is gone. You want me to be safe again, when I should be doing my duty?" The boy asked, seeming hurt. "I want to help you"

Gods, if only he knew.

Davos looked back at the men. There were twenty two men who fought for Stannis amongst Salla's crew. Twenty two whom still wore the flaming heart and stag sigil. The rest had all split between joining the Lyseni Pirates, taking ship back to the free cities or joining Jon Snow's army in hopes of a fight. He questioned their loyalty once more, and when he saw the nods coming from the few King's men left he still hesitated. I was not made for this, I was never meant for this.

He stepped out of the ship all the same.

They were stopped at the city gates. A young nervous looking captain halted them and question their motives.

"Business with Lord Manderly" He replied eying the young man. The lad seemed unsure of what to do.

"We can't..." A man behind him whispered, stopping at a look from the one in command.

"What business?"

"That is for Lord Manderly and I to know, tell him I come in the name of the Starks." The name seemed like a magic word, and, even though the guards seemed unsure, they scouted him and his men inside.

Davos found his eyes wondering. The Fishfoot Yard was right at the entrance, and he suddenly knew that if he took an alley to the left he would found a brothel where he used to eat pies, inedible pies at the best days, poisonous at the worst. The Old Mint could be seen from there as well, and Davos saw dozens of people, women and children mostly, all refugees he realized, living inside.

They traveled across the market, and moving commoners. He saw a tavern full to the brink and men-at-arms walking the streets. Plazas and septs were filled with refugees as well, but none of that stopped the old scents and memories.

Roro used to say he recognized cities by the smell. Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King's Landing reeked like some unwashed whore. White Harbor was sharp, salty, and a little fishy like a mermaid should.

He recognized some true in that now, after years of his first captain dying for trading with wildlings beyond the Wall. A small child ran past him and his men, and on and on the smallfolk started to open space as they marched towards the New Castle, standing atop of a hill inside the city.

How many times have I been here, and fled from such a sight? Back at his youth, New Castle was a sure way to the gallows. Now I'm still walking towards it. Davos saw they were now approaching the gates, barred gates, with an old knight and three guards watching the streets.

"Stay close to me" Davos asked his son. Devan nodded, and although he seemed a little pale he kept forward. Davos held back his pride at the courage. For a smuggler courage was doom, for the Hand of a King, it came without saying for he had to enter many halls, unsure of the loyalties inside.

He didn't know much about the Manderlys personally, but he knew that a son was held hostage amongst the Lannisters. Lady Stark seemed hopeful of their loyalty, but Davos was not so sure. His presence alone might be enough to warrant his death, or to be send away.

Seaworth had a lordly ring to it, but down deep he was still Davos of Flea Bottom, coming home to his city on its three high hills. He knew as much of ships and sails and shores as any man in the Seven Kingdoms, and had fought his share of desperate fights sword to sword on a wet deck. But to this sort of battle he came a maiden, nervous and afraid. Smugglers do not sound warhorns and raise banners. When they smell danger, they raise sail and run before the wind.

The young captain that brought them quickly ran to the knight, whispering to his ear. Looking up, Davos let his eyes roam the walls, they were guarded just like the city walls, but these guards were all looking inside.

Frowning, Davos let his gaze fall to the knight, watching him from the corner of his eyes. Something is happening here. Davos knew how to recognize when some treachery was happening, he knew when merchants were moving the good cargo away from curious eyes. The problem was that he also knew the only way he had to find out what was been hidden.

"Greetings" He said stepping forward and offering his hand. "Ser, I'm Davos Seaworth, and I come here to speak with Lord Wyman Manderly"

"Aye, we can see that" He felt the man's eyes going past him, maybe glancing at his guards bearing the fiery heart of his late king and his son, bearing the same sigil. "Although why would we receive the Hand of a dead man is beyond me Ser."

"My father is a Lord" Devan spoke, and Davos gave him a warning glance before meeting the man's eyes.

"May I have your name Ser?"

"I'm Ser Merlon" The knight spoke.

"Ser Merlon, I come here bearing messages, but not for my late king Stannis, we came in the name of House Stark from Winterfell, and only them. I seek an audience with Lord Manderly, for my words are only for him."

The knight looked at him now, seeming unsure of what to do. "If you give me those messages, I can be the judge of that."

Davos hesitated. If the Manderlys turned to the Boltons, he doubted it would make a difference trying to fight. They were in the open before barred gates with guards on all sides. Yet, he was still a Hand, even if a poor one at that.

He told me to do my duty...

"I'm afraid the letters are sealed, Ser, and my instructions were clear." He thought for a moment. "If we are offered bread and salt though, I would gladly surrender our weapons."

Davos left at that, feeling quite proud. Only the Lord of the Caste could offer guest right. The knight seemed to caught on to him, his thoughtful blue eyes watched from under thick eyebrows. "You have to wait..."

Was all he said. Davos didn't know how long he stood there, his own men becoming restless under the watch from the guards, the cold sun glaring from the sky. From atop the hill, Davos could see the whole city, breathing in and out. It was alive of course, alive and living… And here I come to offer them war…

Slowly he felt hunger and exhaustion caught up to him, his feet were starting to hurt, and the cold seemed to increase. It took the best part of the day, and the sun was lowering towards the west when the gates opened. Ser Merlon entered first, talking quickly with a well dressed man, wearing fancy furs of green and blue. Finally he motioned for him to follow. "Your guards can stay here, they will receive food and quarters."

Davos nodded in acceptance.

The guards with the green merman increased in number inside, and Davos felt an impulse to reach for his bag of bones as he glimpsed red stains on the floor. He forgot his hunger immedialy.

It was with a uneasy heart that Davos Seaworth entered the Merman's Court.

Lord Wyman Manderly waited for them in the merman's court, and he was not alone. A older knight sat by his side, with a young man with thick walrus mustache, with a woman at his side. Two young girls were there as well, one of then, to his surprise, with green hair.

Davos' worried glance did not linger on them though, but was more entrusted with the feast that must have happened a while ago. He saw plenty of food and drink, and yet plenty of it had somehow reached the floor and the walls. The floor was painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors and here and there he glimpsed red stains over it.

On the walls, behind a upturned table, there were pale sharks prowling painted blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall, arched windows. Higher up, near where the old fishing nets drooped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea is depicted… He saw a crossbow bolt stuck to one the nets and another stuck to the wood.

To the right a war galley rested serenely against the rising sun; to the left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves and below it, sitting atop a cushioned seat, was the fastest man Davos had ever seen, watching him from above.

"My Lord" Ser Merlon approached, kneeling. "I bring the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, he claims to have a message."

"Yes..." Lord Manderly spoke as if surprise, but Davos was sure he had been told of his presence. "I see… What brings you to my home, Onion Knight?"

Davos Seaworth took a deep breath, he stepped forward. He thought of Marya and his children. His hand moved to the pocket of his tunic. He thought about his king, and a little girl that was good and kind and curious. He never knelled, to do so would lower his position. He gave the letters to Ser Merlon... There was no turning back.

Big or small, we must do our duty.

"My lord, I come hear as an emissary from Jon Snow, and Lady Sansa of House Stark..."


	10. SANSA IV

SANSA

The wildling camp was wide and sparse, filled with tents and small constructions that could be moved every day or rebuild every night.

They had come from the gift and their seats on the Wall. Giants came from Eastwatch and spearwives from Long Barrow, led mostly by a woman called Black Maris. Soren Shieldbreaker's people came from Stonedoor while the bulk of Tormund's fighting men and woman marched from Oakenshield. Gerrick Kingsblood had no fighting men, but he stood with the others in councils, although Sansa noticed he was mostly ignored. Brogg and the Great Walrus barely spoke to anyone while the Oldfather whom Jon said had almost eighteen wives would listen intently every word, all three brought men to the fight. The last to arrive had been Dim Dalba a gruffly looking men who brought warriors from the settlements of the Gift. Sigorn, the Magnar of Thenn followed them everywhere, but Jon had told her he probably wouldn't fight.

"I'm responsible for his father's death" Jon told her one afternoon as he explained to her about some of the free folk.

It was a sad idea, for as far as Sansa could tell the almost two hundredth thenns were the better armed of the free folk. They wore bronze armor and weapons and had discipline as they fought. The rest bore axes, short swords, spears of stone and hardened wood, hardly they had true steel, although almost every wildling knew how to use a bow. She knew Jon had the intention of instructing them in warfare as best as he could as they gathered support from the rest of the North. He talked them into digging trenches every night and building stakes that could be carried in the march, he spoke of formations and attacks, but Sansa was not sure it would have any effect in such a short notice.

"It will be good for them to know the enemy anyway." Jon said when she questioned him about it.

She was not convinced, even more as she compared them to the many armies she had seen in King's Landing, the Vale and from the Boltons themselves… Still, they were almost three thousand strong and the giants certainly caused an impression. Sansa had stood mounted at the side of the road as they passed, a dozen of them led by Wun Wun, all big, haired and with the heads small in comparison to the bodies. They came bearing big pieces of wood as clubs, almost tree trunks to fight, five were even mounted on the mammoths, hairy beasts with tusks and an awful smell which she didn't notice until Tormund spoke of it.

"Always keep yer tent away if yer not used to the smell, although why someone would want that? Har!"

Sansa hadn't been affected by the comment though. "They are still beautiful" She had remarked, almost letting herself feel in one of Old Nan's tales as the great beings made the earth shake at their passing, listening as Jon spoke about them.

"They can be even bigger in some cases" Her brother explained, looking quite good in his new cloak. "When they get older their fur becomes gray and white, and they value their mounts a lot. The mammoths are sacred to them, and each has a bond with their mount."

"Like our Direwolves" She remarked seeing the corners of his lips tug slightly as Ghost nudged his hand.

"Aye, I suposse so." Her brother answered, his gray eyes watching their passage. "When Mance attacked the Wall he had almost a hundredth giants in his army…"

His voice trailed off to nothing and Sansa could feel the sadness edging the eagerness in which he spoke. There were thousands, then hundredths, now there is less, driven away by men, always from their lands and hills, and the thought made Sansa sad.

They are just like us, once there were many Starks, now we are lost and scattered and hoping to be alive when everything ends.

"Ygritte really filled yer head, crow" Tormund remarked as she saw a widling started to speak with the giants in the Old Tongue, the grumbles and noises barely seeming like words as far as she knew. Jon's eyes turned away from the sight to the ground, with a deep sadness; almost as big as the one she found when she chased him into his quarters after his execution of the traitors.

After that she merely kept watch as Wun Wun greeted his people, and moved them to the sides of the camp all together.

Their march was a good and steady pace, Jon told her, and yet sometimes Sansa felt as if they hadn't moved at all. In some ways it was almost slower than her travel from Winterfell to King's Landing had been. Of course, then she had been all young and giddy, sharing a coach with the Queen and blinded in her impressions of Joffrey. Now, she felt as a stranger amongst these free-folk as they called themselves.

She would ride with Jon most of the time, trying to learn about the people he spoke too, joining him like a shadow. Never she dared to be alone, an uneasy feeling settling in her guts whenever she had to walk amongst men by herself, thankfully Ghost seemed to be always close, and Jon never hesitate to sate her curiosity.

"They steal their wives?" She had asked him one night, shocked.

"Is not how it sounds" He had chuckled, the light was dim on his face, making the lines around his eyes appear strongly, almost erasing the scar around his eye. He had a good smile, she noticed as he shook his head. She had first realized this back at Castle Black, when she presented him with the cloak. Had he always had that smile? "They can only steal daughters, never a wife, and they must steal them from another clan or village to strength the blood. The men do it to prove they are strong and worthy, and the woman fight against them to prove the same, but also to prove they are independent. There is not suppose to be death involved or mistreating in any way."

She had blinked at his explanation, taking small sips of water as the night evolved around them. Their tent was small and black, borrowed from the Night's Watch, and was her sleeping place as much as the Council's tent. The day had passed with with Jon leaving information on how they should move north around the mountains, where he knew to be defensible positions and how best to secure the camp. Next day they would start their march for the Clans, and what could be their victory or defeat.

"They will fight for you" Jon assured when she made her worries known

"I'm a woman Jon, and one that had too many husbands" She explained sadly. "You are Father's son"

"A Snow" She sighed.

"I swear Jon Snow, sometimes you can be thick as the Wall" She said aggravated when he laughed. "What?"

"Sorry, but you're not a respite of understanding either" He claimed looking down, his shyness in how he worded his observation completely exposed.

She wrinkled her nose. "That is not how you should talk to a lady Jon"

"I apologize for the truth then"

"Gods, you're impossible" She said earning a smirk from him, as they settled in silence. She was not Arya or Robb, whom knew exactly how to make Jon talk, of how to tease and be playful, but she had been learning, and it was sweet. "Do you like them?" He looked up. "The wildlings?"

"I admire them a little" He said softly, his eyes flickering to the lit candle at the table and back at her. "At first I couldn't believe how them all wanted an opinion over something. Mance would have these war meetings, and every men spoke as if they were kings. I thought it was foolish."

"It sounds so."

He nodded. "Aye, but I learned that it was also their strength, I mean, there is no way a men believing himself an equal would accept been mistreated. Their woman would drive an axe through their husband's skull if something bad was to happen." Sansa took care to listen, feeling a slight chill from outside. "That gets them too quarrelsome though, and I don't think it is something completely good. Sam would never survive amongst them for once"

"This Sam is your friend?"

"Aye" He had a real smile as he remarked the name. "A coward he called himself, but he could read and write and rationalize better than many. He was useless in a fight, but his mind was something else and he was kind as well. He helped me"

She felt his silence, at the same time that she was thankful he had a friend like that. His eyes shone as he spoke of him, remembering times as recruits, of defending him of Ser Alliser's torments. This is what the world should be, she thought, remembering Winterfell and distant times when she played of knights and maidens. This is what a true knight does, what a good ruler should do. Protect and care for, bring out the potential and learn from it.

"Did you?"

"What?

"Had any… any friends?" Was that hope or sorrow she detected? Sansa was not sure. She thought about his question. Friends? Her mind moved immediately to Jeyne Poole, but her childhood friend disappeared the day she wrote those letters to her family. After that there was only King's Landing, there had been no friends there. At one point, under the pressure of living amongst enemies, fearing her actions spied and never allowed to voice her own thoughts, she had been so desperate for companionship she had opened up to Tyrion Lannister.

Even now, the thought left a bitter taste to her mouth. There was the Hound of course, and that Handmaiden who tried to help her when she bled, and Ser Dontos, but they were not friends, they were allies at most. Margaery tried to seem her friend, but looking back at it, she doubted the future queen truly cared for her in the way a friend should, under her kindness there had always been that underlined interest in her family name…

A friend should be someone you like, and someone you can like back. Someone to whom you can truly be who you are, and Sansa hadn't been allowed to be herself in a long time. The closer she got to it had been the Vale…

"I had two friends..." She told Jon now, rubbing her hands. She felt weak sharing this with him, and at same time eager to do so. "They were Alayne's friends though, but I like to think they truly cared for me."

Jon nodded solemnly. "Maybe you can see them again as Sansa"

"Maybe" She tried to picture Randa fretting over her being of noble birth, and trying to talk to her about her bedding experiences and what not… Then she remembered Mya and her mules, and how she seemed more fond than rilled as Randa listed marriage prospects, offering mirthful come backs here and there... I would never have befriended them if I wasn't a bastard.

"It is late" Jon said suddenly, getting up. "You should sleep, we ride to the clans at dawn, tomorrow"

She nodded, feeling her smile fading, whenever he left it was too early. "Where is Ghost?"

"Hunting most likely." There was a pause in which he stood at the flap of her tent, awkwardly fidgeting with his thoughts. Of course he hesitated, but still she looked up at him hopefully. Did he know? Had he been told of how she struggled in her sleep? Probably, or maybe he heard it himself, sleeping so close by.

After she sent Brienne away to seek her uncle, Jon hadn't left her side at night. He would gather his furs and sleep outside, close to the fire. She still felt a small stab of guilty for it. The Raven had been a short message, but it had been for her, his words and apologies and promises. Sending Brienne to the Blackfish, was as far as she would go in trusting him again, no one needed to know the rest.

Jon left after one last smile, and Sansa was alone to ponder. Ramsay's letter full of threats of rape and skinning filling her mind. Trueborn Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had written. Roose Bolton was dead, that much she knew, but did he kill Fat Walda as well? Did he kill the baby? Would he be smart enough use that leverage and call for the Freys? Sansa hoped he did so, it would make much easier to gather support if Ramsay threw the Red Wedding at people's faces. He had no political cunning like Roose, but he was dangerous nonetheless.

Slept came to her much later in the night, and when it did, she dreamed of his face and his cruel smile, deaf to her pleading and delighted in her screams and whimpers of pain. His knife always moving, cutting, his teeth, his nails, his member, his pleasure was on her disgust and in her torture. As he chuckled over her, strengthening bonds around her wrist she could hear the dogs by her side. They barked and snarled, tearing something apart amidst his laughter.

"He made a fine meal" He taunted, with pale small eyes, and too late Sansa recognize Jon's scream.

Sansa awoke with a start.

She panted heavily as her heart pounded, her sheets falling only for her to clutch them tightly against her chest, trying for any comfort in her terror. It wasn't real, she thought, it wasn't… It wouldn't happen, never… I won't let it happen...

"Sansa" His voice was muffled with an edge of panic, his touch was tender and he approached the bed with caution. Sansa could only see his form and shadow by the corner of her eye. When she finally mustered the courage to stare, relief flooded her body to find his grey eyes alive and well, gentle eyes, worried eyes...

"I-I'm well…" She whispered, even as she felt her body sticky and cold due to her sweat.

"Are you sure?" He was only in his leathers, hair disheveled under a thick wool hat, face almost breaking, as she nodded, taking the hand from her shoulder to clutch it in her palms.

"Yes" She answered. "Just nightmares, that is all"

"Aye"

There was a moment's silence as she took comfort in his presence, hearing the howling wind and the silence of the night, but her world was her dark tent and Jon by her side, staring with all the patience of the world. Falling back down slowly, she pulled his hand with her. Should I dare? She wondered, remembering the last good night of sleep she had. In the darkness his eyes were shining, looking at everywhere but her. What was he thinking? Was he wishing he was Robb, the brother she would seek for bad dreams and hurt feelings? She certainly wanted to be Arya to take that hurt from his eyes that was there far too often. A dark cloud that would hid his gaze whenever he would be reminded of his brothers, and his death… And that sometimes would make him trash about in front of her tent...

When he finally made to move away, she clutched his hand tighter. "Stay" She asked with every bit of courage she had. Slowly, she moved aside, opening space in her furs for him to lie down, almost fearing that he would leave.

He didn't.

There was no hint of his feelings as he did her bidding, laying by her side as stiff as a log.

Sansa simply kept his hand in hers as she stared at his profile, memorizing the lines of his long face, the bags under his eyes, and the beard he was growing. I can be myself with you, and not fear for it. She hopes he could feel the same for her.

"Close your eyes Jon" She asked, closing her own as he relaxed. The nightmares didn't seem so scary. As she faded into sleep, her last thought was that everything would be fine with him by her side.


	11. JON III

JON

The people gathered at the edge of every little village, guides came to them out of their own volition and women and children saw their passage in a cold day, small bows been offered here and there all the way to the first hall of the first clan of the mountain.

It was, surprising.

Looking at his side, he could see that Sansa felt the same.

Whenever they went, people seemed aware that there was a Stark in their midst and Jon couldn't help but be happy for her. She sat tall in her mount the whole time, his old cloak at her shoulders and a silver direwolf roaring at the chess of her deep blue dress. Her hair was placed in a long braid running down over her shoulder, her eyes glittering under the cold morning sun. When his eyes were not on her they would drift to the canyons, and falls and stone walls carving the snow covered paths around the mountains and to the valleys they would seek help in, urging their mounts forward as he scanned for any possible danger.

"We should have banners" Sansa mourned one morning, after passing another such place.

"We have Ghost, I think that is enough" And indeed the direwolf seldom left their side on their journey, becoming a visible symbol of who she was.

Behind them, trailed a small column of guards, free folk that Jon trusted enough to act properly before the clans. If they could convince the clans to fight with them, then the rest of the North surely might do so as well. With that in mind he had chosen Torreg the Tall, Soren Shieldbreaker and Leathers whom had followed him from Castle Black, and Jon was glad that he hadn't had time to swear his oath back then. Black Maris had come with one more spearwife, while the rest were warriors picked by Val for been a reasonable lot. Together he was confident he had found a perfect show of whom the free folk were as a people.

The Flints were the first clan to sight and receive them. He and Sansa were feasted briefly by the Old Flint, even as he and his warriors eyed the free folk with contempt and, in some cases, hate.

"My lord" Sansa had stepped in as soon as presentations were made, Jon standing by her side and slightly behind. It was only proper. "I know we have hard discussions ahead. Our journey was harsh and our guards kept us safe for a long way, they are tired and hungry as much as we are, even if we do not wish to abuse of your hospitality."

Jon had watched fascinated. She had given the man an out and yet put the free folk as been equals in their conditions while praising their work. He was more surprised that the Old Flint was convinced by her words, flattered as she complimented his home and his daughters. He was even made to dance with them briefly, for Sansa's obvious delight. Their guards earned a small meal outside, which he suppose was better than be killed. The Old Flint's words were more than welcome as well.

"I'm glad to finally see you, my men have reported of your army for some time now."

"You've been watching us my lord?" Jon had asked, making the question as easy as possible so he wouldn't offend the man.

"I have, the eyes of the North have been turned to the last Starks with eagerness." He spoke under the soft crackling of the fire. "Rumors have been spreading recently. They started many moons ago, and it spoke of a great crime, and a greater sin. They came of men walking out of the swamps, wolves all of them, eager to gather. Once I realized your route, I sent word ahead, to as many clans as could be heard, and they, in turn, turned their voices to the North and those who remember."

Jon saw Sansa nodding thorough the conversation, and dared not to disturb her hope. When they had first argued about marching, she spoke eagerly about the northerners' loyalty, and yet he dared not to speak otherwise.

The northerners were loyal yes, but there was more than loyalty at stake for many as well.

After that, they moved on, gathering chiefs and sons along the way, finally meeting the Old Bucket in his own hall, a big wooden construction at the foot of a high peak, decorated with skulls of bears and wolves, old swords and rusted shields.

The First Flints, the Wulls, the Norreys, the Knots, the Burleys, the Harclays and Liddles, they all felt competitive towards one another, but they all gathered in that hall now. The Wull made an effort, Jon had seeing, to make as big a feast as possible, showing his wealthy and generosity to Ned Stark's children. Their guard of free folk,was again allowed to eat outside, leaving only Jon, Sansa and Ghost amongst boisterous stories and laughter and meat and mead.

He had watched her the whole night, when he could. He realized very quickly that she was not at easy talking with that many men so close, but before he could do anything, Ghost was suddenly at her side and his sister was again composed through the rest of the night.

She would always talk with each men, giving them her full attention. She asked after their sons and daughters, their wives and people, sneaking words about Winterfell and their father along the conversation as if it was second nature. Jon himself gave news of the Wall, of the realm, and of the free folk, to those who would listen. Mostly though he was asked about Ghost, about Longclaw and coming strategies. He complimented those men bravery when he could, even danced again at some point, though he was relieved when the feast ended and they could retire, with the Wull promising to make a proper meeting once all the guests arrived. Who those guests were, it remained to be seen.

"I'll leave Ghost with you" He told her that night, knowing it wouldn't be fine to sleep close in the hall. She had nodded resignedly, offered him a small smile and disappeared with the wolf at her side.

It still confused him how this could be.

They had never addressed what happened in Castle Black, after that first night he had simply giving her quarter's in the King's Tower, and hoped she would be fine. To be woken every night by his own nightmares and the sound of her moving in bed was horrible though. He had taking as an habit to sleep close, trusting that his presence with Ghost would dissuade any daring man of stealing her in the night.

In the end, his resolve broke.

He had promised himself to be by her side, to bring her home to Winterfell and to keep her safe. Certainly it applied to be there when she was whimpering and hurting in her own mind. Certainly. He would sneak into her tent every night after that, and wake up before the sunrise. In the road through the mountains they at least slept close around the fires, and in their stay on the halls of the clans, like now, Ghost would be her guardian.

That night he slept fretfully, trashing and turning on his bed, the shadows seeming to be laughing and mocking him with the raucous of a distant feast, until morning came and he found himself staring at the canopy as the light appeared on his window. Splashing some water to his face, he tight his hair back and hoped he didn't look tired when he went to find her, her quarters a private small place close to the Wull's own chambers. He knocked and was greeted by Sansa, wrapped in his old cloak in the cold morning. She had a fire burning in the room, and furs draped in what resembled a bed. Ghost was curled on the floor, eyes closed and Sansa moved to what she must have been doing when he came, brushing her fingers on the direwolf's fur.

"He will become lazy"

"He deserves it" She replied tenderly and Jon wondered if she felt Lady's absence more or less. He knew how it was to lose that connection only if temporarily. Then her face morphed into something else at his sight. "You look dreadful..."

"Good enough for them I hope"

"Jon."

"I didn't sleep well" He said quickly. "I hope you did better"

"I did" She stared at him for some time, while he begged her not to ask, he didn't want to talk about it, much less have this conversation when they were about to speak with the lords. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"Some of it" He answered, releasing a sigh. "They seemed eager enough to fight the Boltons last night, they are only angered about the free folk."

"Did you check on our guards?"

"Sleeping soundly, I think Maris took a men under her furs last night" He bit at his lip, when women were involved it seemed some men didn't care about what side of the Wall they came from. "Apparently he had a fight with her last night, and he stole her without realizing it."

"That must have been interesting" He saw her lips curling lightly in the morning light. "You will try to convince them about the Others"

"Aye"

"It will be hard" She warned.

"It seems the best course, the threat on the Wall will convince them to put differences aside, no matter what."

"I know Jon, but we shouldn't convince them through fear" Sansa warned, and he blinked. "They must first be convinced to fight for us and by their side. If you just buy them on a temporary alliance it will fade as soon as the fight is done"

"That depends on the fight" He retorted. Winter friends are friends for life, someone had told him once. Jon was sure he could get these men to fight together once they started to share a shield wall. "And if they don't, they have Lady Stark to answer to..."

He tried, hoping it would cheer her up, but her face was like a mask of ice and it was hard to tell her real thoughts right then. It happened way too often and it unnerved him more than he liked. Whenever they would find themselves alone and talk over small things, she would relax, and yet other times she seemed entirely disturbed by that and would fall into that mask again.

He would talk to her about the free folk, listen about the Vale and Myranda Royce or Mya Stone, stepping carefully to avoid any uncomfortable memories. He asked about Brienne and Podrick, and then she would smile, faintly and dull, and he would miss her smiles from Winterfell.

She doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve any longer. He thought. Unless she was waking up from a nightmare. He had his own nightmares to fight. Daggers in the dark, and tear stained faces. As she rose, her hair again braided and brushed, she walked by his side, and they moved to the great hall to break fast.

Their slow morning, turned into surprise when the delegation first arrived.

The first thing that caught Jon's eye was the banners. The bear of House Mormont, the iron fist of House Glover against the red cloth, House Hornwood's banner was there as well. Little Lyanna Mormont was the most obvious from the group, a girl no more older than Arya, guarded by a bald and broad shouldered warrior with the bear sigil on his armor. An older men was riding ahead, the Glover fist at his tunic, his face seeming grave and angry at first sight. Jon saw there was someone else beside the lord, a mature face he found familiar but his clothes were fading and dirty and he could barely see anything against the red he was bearing. There was a lad riding behind them, and other small lords of grey beards and severe faces he only recognized because of the sigils. Mazin, Ashwood, Lakes, Forrester and other small houses from the woods and the coast.

"My Lord" Robett Glover said first, as it was the costume, before eying him and Sansa over the table.

"I welcome you to my hall, my lords" Old Bucket said, and Jon could see the pleasure he had at receiving them in his home. "If you allow me, my lady?" He questioned Sansa. His sister didn't seem startled, it was a good show of loyalty to ask her.

"Of course my lord"

"To you I offer hospitality and to share my table if you wish so" He said as salt and bread were brought and the guests filled the tables.

"My Lady" Jon said when the girl found his side. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

She took a pause, and Jon saw her brow furrowing. "You're Lord Snow..."

"Aye..."

"You were Lord Commander at the Wall last time I checked, asking for men and supplies to fight Others"

Jon nodded, taking a small breath.

"Aye My Lady, the threat of the Others is very real."

"Then shouldn't you be there, watching out for them? What is the Lord Commander doing so far south I wonder?" She questioned, the man at arms by her side whispered something to her ear, and she nodded. "I've seen my mother execute a deserter once, took his head."

"My vows were fulfilled" He explained vaguely, it wouldn't do to reveal too much.

"Were they now?" She questioned, eying her food. "Word arrived quickly at Bear Island, words of a Lady Stark"

"My sister wrote to you."

"Yet I only see Lady Bolton" She took a look at the other side of the table, where Jon saw what seemed like a relieved smile at Lord Glover's face. "Or is it Lady Lannister?"

"She is a Stark my lady."

"She is not, and neither are you, so for whom am I fighting?" The question was uttered without courtesy or subtle words. It almost took Jon off guard, but he was too used to take the free folk been blunt to be so.

"I don't know my lady, but you must, otherwise why would you be marching?"

"Excuse me?"

"It takes a whole day to take small boats to the coast from Bear Island, and at least a moon's turn to reach these halls from that point. Lady Stark sent that raven at least a moon's turn ago, which means you were either on the way or ready to leave."

He wondered if the Lady would say anything else, but after nodding and listening to her counsel man one more time, they eat in silence.

That afternoon he was allowed to use the courtyard with a few young warriors, and he was glad by the exercise, moving the wooden sword against a moving target was enough to clear his head and let out his frustration. He was annoyed by Lyanna Mormont's words, fearful of the meeting that was coming closer, tired of not sleeping… He hit the sword against the young man's arm and he cried out letting go his weapon.

Had Robb seeing the same thing when he caught me like that the first time?

Sighing, he showed the young man how to defend himself properly, demonstrating the movements slowly, and went back to training. Later he cleaned himself with a cloth and a basin of water, dressed himself in the leathers of house Stark, and the cloak Sansa had made for him. For him… the thought sent a jolt of renewed warmth inside him, as he traced the stamped direwolf on the front. It was too much for a bastard, but he would take it.

"Come in..." She said when he met her again in her quarters.

"My lady, I came to escort you to the hall" He said formally, she gave him a small smile.

"Don't call me that..."

"It is the proper way to call you" He needed her to see this. "I need to show them."

"No you don't, my lord"

"I'm not a lord"

Jon frowned when she released a sigh, her shoulders sagging. "What if it was for the best that you were?"

"I don't follow you"

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes were frozen, she was ready for a fight. "Maybe you need to be Lord of Winterfell, Jon."

"No" He said before he could even think.

"Jon, listen to me."

"I won't have it" He insisted. "Winterfell is yours Sansa, I won't have any other way. You're the trueborn daughter of the north, it is how it should be"

"Then tell me Jon, of how many Ladies of Winterfell have you known of, that ruled without a man?" She questioned and Jon had to shake his head. She had always been good at history, far better than him. Jon could name many great battles over the thousands of years the Starks ruled the North, and almost every step of the Young Dragon's dornish campaign, but his memory was far off.

"Serena and Sansa Stark..."

"Had to marry to retain their rights" Sansa said quickly. "As soon as Ramsay dies Jon, every lord out there will try to get me to marry again, either to themselves or their sons."

"I won't let that happen"

"You won't if you become a lord as well" She said flatly, biting her lip. "It wouldn't be hard you know, even now, these lords look to you when they have questions, they look to you for command. Do you know what Lord Glover told me this morning? He thanked me for seeing to his children's release and asked me when he can met with you in private to talk strategy."

He shook his head, feeling as if he had been pierced again. Lady Lyanna's words echoing in his head even now.

"I'm not a Stark"

Feet stepped up to him, a uncovered hand of flesh touched his skin, while another nudged him to look at her.

"I'm not going to make you do this, but whether you accept or not, you have to know that to me you're as true a Stark as there ever was."


	12. SANSA V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much I truly liked this chapter, I felt many times like I was repeating something I read in other fics out there, and as is goes i can recall reading similar scenarios in two or three other places and I tried really hard to get this as original as possible and yet, keep the natural progression of the story.
> 
> Please enjoy it XD

SANSA V

"I won't fight beside Wildling scum!" Brandon Norrey shouted later, his son was called Brandon as well, so the father was mostly known as the Norrey.

"They are no trustworthy, Stark girl" Old Flint agreed after Jon spoke of the army they already had.

"We could let them in the vanguard!" Another man shouted from the back.

"And have someone call me a coward?! Bloody no!" Brandon Norrey, the son, answered. Sansa looked up, trying to gouge the reaction from others, but Robett Glover and Lyanna Mormont were silent, the small houses as well. This was not their main issue, she realized. They will have qualms though, of that she was certain.

"They are fighting for us" Jon said after asking for silence. Sansa watched him. He was standing from his place in the high table, dressed in Stark leathers and his new cloak, his voice had been speaking for some time now, and she could tell was growing weary of the argument. "I know many of you hold grievances against them. I know, but those grievances won't change our reality, that Winter is Coming! That we, the living, all of those with warm blood in their veins must be together to survive!"

"Aye, the Long Night, but how do we know it to be truth, Snow?" The Big Bucket questioned heavily, his eyes held interest, his posture was leaning forward. Sansa could tell he actually wanted to be convinced.

A sudden movement drew her attention and that of the rest of the room. Torren Liddle had raised then, he was The Liddle. "My son, Ducan, has sent me a letter, it came with Lord Snow, he speaks of those same things, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"Letters have been sent by Stannis Baratheon as well, many and more, claiming the same" Lord Mazin reminded everyone.

"We all received many word from the Wall." Lord Ashford explained needlessly.

"And many deserters" Torghen Flint reminded, before his eyes settled on Jon.

Sansa drew a breath, schooling her face to show nothing as she watched Jon pursing his lips together. Little Lyanna Mormont was listening to something her captain was saying, Lord Glover blinked. Careful Jon, she tried to tell him with her eyes, then her brother was speaking.

"It is the truth my lords, you should know this fight is not only for House Stark, is not only for justice to be done on the North, it is also for us to preserve it." His voice rose. "The Others are coming, and the Wall must be defended at any cost. You have all received the calls from the watch my lords. There many things coming from beyond the Wall, and Winter is Coming. To get through it, the North must be united."

"The North is currently united under House Bolton" Lord Glover pointed out even as the hall was filled with grumbling noises.

"Is it, my lord?" Jon questioned, turning to him. "The Night's Watch knows the Wall must be held, Stannis Baratheon knew the Wall should be held. House Bolton doesn't! All House Bolton does is sow discord!"

"House Stark has the oath from your house doesn't it, Lord Glover?" Sansa questioned.

"Your father and your brother had the oath from House Glover." There was a flash of something going through the man's eyes as he spoke.

"And now they are not here anymore, and whose fault is that?" She finished and her voice never wavered. "Will you, my good lords, remain away from the fight because of the wildlings?"

"They steal and rape!" A young Wull claimed with his brows furrowed.

"Many of my man lost daughters and lives to wildling raiders." The Liddle said disapprovingly.

Sansa watched the murmurs of agreement starting again, and even saw Lord Glover frowning. This was not good, she realized.

"My Lords!" She spoke, rising to her feet, the hall fell silent. Ghost moved to sit by her side, standing almost at her shoulder. Her hand caressed the pony sized beast tenderly, as she glanced around the hall. They needed a push, she decided. "The Wildlings might not be your first option as friend, but it doesn't change the fact they were the first to come to our aid when asked." She said calmly, turning for Jon. "My brother, Jon Snow rescued them, their lives, from the terrors beyond the Wall. We came here seeking a friendship even older and stronger, for the sake of the North and for justice as well." She looked around the hall then. "There were many of your own at the Red Wedding! Are we going to stand idle as the North becomes a reward for traitors? As the North is threatened from every corner, enemies from North and South?"

The word made a hush fall on the hall, and Sansa could hear the flickering torches like hisses from angry beasts. the started talking yet again, murmurs erupting here and there across the hall as sought out words of support amongst the cacophony. She was startled when a fist hit the table, Jon spun around reaching for his sword, it was with surprise she found the Big Bucket settled in an angry scow directed to the rest to the men.

"I won't let it be said that a bunch of wildlings fought for Ned's girl while I did nothing!" The Big Bucket had shouted, drawing a greatsword from his back. "I say we show those savages how we kill Boltons!"

"We made an oath!" Toghen Flint spoke loudly, bowing to them.

"Justice!" Shouted the Norrey.

"House Glover will stand with House Stark!" Lord Glover said bowing to her and Jon.

And them the rest followed, all the clans shouting for them, drawing swords and maces and axes, and the shouts of "Stark!" had filled the hall around them. When Sansa clasped her hand in his own, she allowed herself to feel the waves of joy, with the warmth radiating from him.

Lord Glover smiled at her as he promised the swords and spears from the wolfswood to her cause, his words from earlier been a veiled agreement she had made yesterday. "We thank you my lord." She said back.

Larance Snow came next, and the other small lords, and clans men, all wanting a private word, many coming to Jon for actual conversation, asking him questions about Winterfell, and battle plans. She watched as he answered everything in minimum details and yet with the knowledge of a warrior. He showed certainty and leadership, she had to wonder how he couldn't see it as she did. That these man came to her for her kind words, and sought him out for real leadership. Suddenly his gray eyes met hers for a moment, and she caught his smile. A smile like that could drive some ladies mad, she thought bemused and suddenly sad.

Sansa was somewhat thankful when she felt a small form walking towards them, her brow furrowed, her voice leveled so only her and Jon could hear as the hall filled with coming and going servants, to bring meat and mead and bread.

After stretching the silence, Lyanna Mormont finally spoke. "So is the North to rely under the bastard, or the Lady Lannister? But you're a Bolton as well, aren't you?"

Sansa stared right back at the little girl, reminding herself of her own age once, long ago. She admired her bravery in that moment, it was certainly admirable that she would speak these words in this hall, even in whispers, it took courage to do such a thing. A courage that, Sansa felt, spoke more than just her won ambition. "I am Sansa Stark, my lady, and if you intend to refuse us, do it by speaking my name properly" She says now, seeing the small twitch in the girl's expression, feeling strength from Jon's eyes on her back, she keeps going. "I can understand where you're coming from, my lady. A family torn apart by war, responsibilities falling upon you from every corner, and now you must think of your own people. And I must do the same, for my brother speaks truly." She takes a small breath, turning her gaze to the girl's eyes. "If you believe House Bolton will come to your aid when needed, then feel free to join them. If you believe their murders beside the Freys should go unpunished, then so be it. If you believe that this is truly the best to your people, that you had enough war, that you must protect them now, then I, as Sansa of House Stark, promise you now there will be no ill thought from my part, but I must ask you to decide now."

When she finishes she is staring right at the girl. There was a pause in the wind, as she hears the master-at-arms taking a breath, probably ready to speak, but Lady Lyanna stops him, still measuring her up. What she sees Sansa can't tell, but the girl looks at her, then at Jon.

"What you speak of the Others."

"It is the truth my lady" Jon says gravely staring at her eyes for a long time, until the girl seemed satisfied. She chances a glance at her companions, seeming coming to a decision of her own, her eyes shining with a glimmer of steel.

"House Mormont will honor their oath, Lady Stark."

Later, much later, Sansa found herself smothered with attention. Men came to compliment her beauty and make promises, they pledged their swords and words until her head buzzed and everything seemed numb. The heat increased as warm food and fire and bodies began to mix and dance. Her kin grew damp from sweat and greasy when it dried out. It was only due to Ghost that she managed to squeeze herself out of the hall, leaving behind the heat from the fires and bodies alike. Outside the cold air kissed her skin, like a welcome hug, and she allowed herself the respite, feeling Ghost's eyes at her side.

From the heavy doors she could have glimpses of the courtyard, where food had been served as well, she could even see their guards, a dozen wildlings eating huddled in a small group away from the rest. Sansa came to know their names in their journey. Torreg, was Tormund's son a fine young man, more solemn than his father. Soren Shieldbreaker was a leader of men and a great warrior Jon said, but Sansa could see his trust laid most with Leathers, the man always ready to be blunt, but still polite all the same. She realized how strange it was that they separated themselves from the rest. She knew it would be hard work to unite both sides. It's never too soon to start.

Walking across the place, Sansa fixed her posture, ignoring the weight of her cloak all together, while Ghost stayed by her side, the direwolf's presence served to keep her fears at bay. It was always hard for her to be alone, close to so many strange man, even as she sought strength from her name and her station. I'm a Lady… I'm Stark… She kept saying.

Conversation seized as the wildlings caught sight of her, Black Maris, and Mallah, the only spearwives, barely looking up from the stew.

"I hope you're being well treated" She offered with a smile.

"Everything fine by now, lady wolf" Leathers explained. "Except for this ale they drink, piss more likely."

Soren Shieldbreaker barked a laugh. "Aye, piss and water, nothing like our goat's milk over here"

Sansa smiled as the conversation moved to that topic, catching the curious gazes from the clansmen, and men-at-arms. "Would you be interest to share it then?"

"Lady wolf has courage" Black Maris proclaimed with a laugh. Sansa held back any feeling she might have about them, she knew it was not meant as insult. She learned a long time ago that titles and compliments seldom showed the true value of a person.

"All yours, wolf lady" Leathers said. She took the skin, and sniffed, shuddering from the scent alone as it burned her nostrils. Well, I'm already committed to it, ain't I? Mother would be bewildered. She thought, offering them a smile, as she took a small sip.

It was strong, stronger than anything she drunk before, it burned and went through her, until she was coughing and blinking. The wildlings laughed, although calmly, as she recovered.

"It's is certainly better than ale" She finally declared, feeling her throat burning. They offered her a cheer. "I'm certain many northmen never tasted it as well."

Silence followed her statement, but she was already staring across the yard. Silently, she signaled to a young men, staring back at her. Barely growing a bear. The lad came closer, with scared eyes darting from her to Ghost as he dropped to one knee. The wildlings snickered at the display. She smiled gently.

"This is a gift from the free-folk, share it with your companions, but do be careful, I've tasted it and it is rather strong."

Some time later she was watching them from afar, the argument about beverages had expanded to fishing and hunting and loud boasting from all sides. Ghost's presence by her side, always watchful was also a great way she found to stomp down the more heated conversations.

"That was impressive" Jon told her and Sansa felt herself beaming.

"Thanks."

Her brother nodded, patting his direwolf. "What you did back there, with Lady Lyanna, that was impressive as well."

"I was not sure it would convince her"

"It did, she had to believe we had more than selfish needs and that our cause was not weak. She needed compassion and harsh truths" Sansa feel the laugh coming slowly. "What?" He asks, his face is confused but curious as well, and she wonders when he became so open. Honestly she cannot remember him been like this in their youth, at least not with her. She sets those thoughts aside as she tries to explain.

"I just saw a lot of myself on her. She is only taking care of those under her protection, there was nothing impressive about that."

Jon shook his head, his dark hair escaping from his bun, to run over his face. She had a urge to tuck them away, but refrained her hands from moving out of her cloak's warmth. "You are impressive Sansa, you made those men talk" He said pointedly.

"You've been talking to them for far longer, if they listened to me at all was because of you"

"I merely made them arm wrestle, instead of trying to kill each other" He said pointedly. She gave him no answer, for in her mind Sansa doubted his words. Surely they were good, but Jon was a leader. She saw it the moment he started talking individually with each men, taking their grievances and complaints and judging them fairly enough. If he lacked some subtlety it was good in some senses as well.

"Have you tried that?" She questioned as another man-at-arm fell prey to the wildling brew.

"Aye" He answered exasperate. "That thing can burn your stomach through"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad." She laughed at his raised eyebrows and shook her head, a small delightful sound escaping his own lips, smoking in the cold night. It was almost like Winterfell again, laughter had sounded much like this in her memories. Maybe it is a sign that home is closer now, she though watching Jon's gray eyes glimmering. Or maybe we found a different sort of home all together.

"Jon?"

"Aye?"

"You have a battle plan?" She waited, listening to the distant chat. Jon leaned back where he sat, his gaze following the stars on the rare clear skies above.

"I do, although I can't be sure of how well it can be done. For one, we don't know how many men Bolton will have with him. His forces are nearly intact. If you are sure about the Dustins and Ryswells, he can get a thousand men from them and maybe two thousand if he seeks out the Freys. He will have more horsemen than we do, but the free-folk all know how to use a bow…" His voice trailed off, and she saw him scooting over, taking a stick and cleaning a space on the ground. "The only thing I know for sure, is that we have to get them out of Winterfell… But I don't know how to do that…"

"What happens if they leave the castle?"

"Well, If I were Bolton, I would take the ridge right in front of Winterfell, the high ground would give advantage to who claims it, and it stands almost in the reach of any bowmen standing on the walls for a possible retreat." He drew a line where the ridge should be. "If that is the case, I would use the free-folk as a sort of bait. If our scouts are good enough, they won't know the size of our army until the time comes, and I hope to keep it that way sending the freefolk in the woods and snow. In the battle the freefolk would then stand at the edge of the wolfswood, ready for a retreat. When the Boltons move for the kill, the clansmen will spring the trap, coming from the trees left and right… I would close them at the edge of the forest and, if we can gather enough support, use our cavalry as few as we can get to cut their retreat to Winterfell…"

Sansa nodded, staring at the arrows and lines he was drawing, trying to see the battle in her mind's eye. She knew nothing about battles, but as far as she could gather, it seemed like a sound plan. It almost reminded of how Tyrion had used his wildlings against Stannis, placing them in the woods where their fighting was better suited. Jon was counting on the same thing, except there was something lacking in his plan, something she felt she shouldn't bring up just yet… Maybe he already knew…

It didn't matter though, in the end it was just like her father used to say... The Winters are harsh, but the Starks endure...


	13. BRIENNE

BRIENNE

Do your duty.

Once she dreamed of Renly, but lately she dreams of Jaime more.

It is funny what people think of before battle, and apparently she was not immune to it. Whether there would be a battle in the future or not. Of course, she could always go away. Her oath was not to this castle after all, neither to those rivers she had once watched beside a Lady with auburn hair, but still, while there was a chance that her words would be heard, she would stay firm and fulfill it to the best of her ability. Brienne of Tarth had stared at those blue eyes and those features that sometimes still reminded her of Lady Catelyn and made a vow over soft autumn’s snows and so she would follow.

She followed it even as she and Pod were scouted through a Lannister camp by Lannister men. The tent she was brought to was the largest of the camp, a monstrous thing of red and gold, decorated with banners in every corner. Guards were posted before the entrance and around the place. Lannisters, everyone of them. Whatever alliance the Freys and the Lannisters had it didn’t involve sharing the same camp. After a long moment of whispers and messages, she was finally escorted inside the tent after offering Pod a comforting gaze when he was left behind. 

Ser Jaime was waiting inside, behind a long crude table. She could see a map of the nearby lands and Riverrun spread over it, held down by cups of gold and a tankard of wine which had obviously been shared for a while. A young blond man frowned at her direction, while two young weasel like remained sited, the sigil of Twins blaring on their chests. Brienne let her eyes remain on Jaime though. He looked good, and yet tired. Hi short hair had grown a little since last time she saw, while the wisps of a beard had grown around his chin. He was dressed in a loose dark tunic, with red breaches and boots. Not at all ready for storming a castle, she noticed, relieved.

“Who are you?” The young man questioned, but Brienne kept quiet. She was not sure of how safe it was to talk before those men, and her heart was beating too fast to think. Words were never her trade. “Answer me woman or you...”

“No need for that, dear cousin of mine.” Jaime said rising. “Leave us, all of you”

Once they had been alone, Brienne had felt the heat rising to her cheeks, her will the only thing keeping her feet from moving nervously around. When Jaime offered her wine, she actually accepted. This was not suppose to be work for her. She was a knight, or at least as close to one as she could get but there, now, words were a work better suited for a Lady, one whose lessons hadn’t been a waste.

“I found her” 

The words sprung from her mouth like a pledge and a comfort. Your oath is fulfilled, your honor is safe, were the words she kept to herself. Jaime’s reaction was puzzling. He seemed to grasp her meaning immediately, his eyes darting to the ground as if in regret.

“I’m glad...” He nodded. “I always thought the girl was mostly dead.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“In my experience children like her don’t last very long out there”

“I don’t think she has been a child for a long time” That was the most clear around every fact. That Sansa Stark was far from a child now, far from innocent dreams. And so am I in a way…

Do your duty.

Brienne repressed a shiver.

“Well, I'm proud of you. You fulfilled your oath to Catelyn Stark against all odds. Of course my sister wants Sansa Stark dead, the girl is still suspected of Joffrey’s murder so there is that complication…” Brienne played with the liquid in her cup, barely a sip left. She was not suited to talk about these sorts of things. “What are you doing here?”

My duty. “I’ve come for the Blackfish.”

Jaime scoffed. “You’re welcome to have him.”

“Lady Sansa wishes to take her ancestral home back from the Boltons and assume her rightful position as Lady of Winterfell.”

Jaime sipped his wine, his eyes seemed tired almost pitying. “With what army does she plan to take Winterfell?”

Northerners and Wildlings, giants and skinchangers. “There is one inside Riverrun”

“They’re a bit occupied at the moment.” He answered dryly. “I’ve come here to reclaim Riverrun, which is currently defended by the Tully rebels. So you can see the conundrum.”

“The Tullys are rebels because they are fighting for their home?”

“Riverrun was given to the Freys by Royal Decree.”

“As a reward for betraying Robb Stark and slaughtering his family.”

“Exactly.” His shoulder’s lowered and he sat down. Brienne licked her lips feeling the tension in the air. She could understand loyalty and honor, but there was nothing understandable about demanding honor in the same of something as hideous as the Red Wedding. Jaime sighed. “We shouldn’t talk about politics.”  
No they shouldn’t. Her words would be useless in that field. She was not a lady like her father deserved, otherwise she might actually have some power here, all she had was her honor.

Do your duty. 

“You’re a knight Ser Jaime.” She said almost in a whisper. For a moment she thought she had succeeded, for Jaime smiled, but immediately she saw it was something pained and ugly.

“Don’t ask me to betray my own house.”

No! that is not…. “I’m doing no such thing!” She said startling him in her hurry. “I...I-I can help you… You made an oath against fighting Tullys and Starks, and you were ordered to… to take the castle… Allow me to enter Riverrun under a truce. I’ll persuade Ser Brynden to give up the castle. Take Riverrun without bloodshed. March south again with your mission complete and your army intact.” And your honor.

“Why would he abandon his ancestral home?”

“Because you’ll allow him to march the Tully forces safely North.”

Jaime smirked. “Have you ever met the Blackfish?”

“No”

“He is even more stubborn than you are.” He raised his head and Brienne met those green emerald eyes, the same eyes that haunted her dreams and made for uncomfortable mornings trying to hide her indiscretions from Pod. Dreams that a warrior shouldn’t have. Finally he looked away “All right try to talk some sense into the old goat. He won’t listen, but his men might. Not everybody wants to die for someone else’s home.”

“I need your word.”

Jaime hesitated. “You have it and… You have until nightfall”

Brienne nodded, it was better than she hoped and less that she wanted. She had heard once that every good negotiation made both side unhappy, maybe that was the case now. Taking a deep breath, she slowly untangle the straps holding the scabbard at her waist, silently she offered the sword back. For a while Jaime merely stared and then he surprised her again. “Its yours…” His voice was soft “It’ll always be yours.”

Her cheeks burning, Brienne looked away, clumsily tying it up again. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to leave, but there was one more thing she needed to say, something that had been on her mind ever since she left the North. “One last thing Ser Jaime.”

“Yes, Lady Brienne?”

“Should I fail to persuade the Blackfish, and should you storm the castle, honor compels me to fight for Sansa’s kin.”

 

He blinked, and she was half afraid he would be mad at her, but he seemed to be expecting that as well, when he answered he sounded resigned. “Of course it does.”

Do your duty

And so she had entered Riverrun, delivered a personal message and now, now she was stuck here, unheard. The Blackfish refused to listen and she could only wait on the walls, staring into rising siege towers and trebuchets, while the knight kept his distance.

Her time was over and she had failed, it didn’t seem to matter that the Blackfish could see Sansa’s handwriting and remember his niece, it didn’t seem to matter that he still had family, when Brienne looked at the Blackfish she saw a man with only one goal and the familiarity of it cooled her heart.

“Maybe we could try again, My Lady” Pod shyly said from her said, and she smiled. 

“I’m not sure it’s gonna do any good Pod”

The squire seemed to be thinking deeply anyway, up until they heard the warnings ringing from the gate. Startled she wondered if the Lannister had somehow sneak up on them, but the noise was not the desperate call for battle. She quickened her pace, coming to the gate just as a group of guards parted to give space to a humbly dressed and tired looking man, his hair was Tully red though and the way the men were behaving gave Brienne a clue of whom he might be.

He called them with an air of authority and the men obeyed, hurriedly bringing to his uncle. Brienne stay behind only for a second, before following suit. Her steps taking her towards the courtyard and beyond, catching a glimpse of the man disappearing on the arch that went to the gardens. There she hesitated.

“My Lady, that is Edmure Tully” Pod suddenly told her, confirming her suspicions. Her heart sunk, there was only one reason for the Lannisters to let Edmure Tully go, and it was not a pleasant one. Summoning her courage Brienne stepped forward to intrude in a family meeting.

“… Over my dead body!”

“Uncle, be reasonable”

“No, you’re speaking treason boy”

Silence. Brienne reached the gardens of Riverrun, were once there had been green all around her with the colors of flowers everywhere, now there was worked soil where the Blackfish had been trying to grow a small crop. It was however as bleak as the silence that she found while Edmure Tully locked his shoulders.

“I am the Lord of Riverrun, uncle, no matter what you want, I’m making my decision now”

“You’ll give up then? Just like that? What about what those shits did to your sister? To your nephew? Your king?”

Edmure Tully looked away. “What about my wife and my son?”

“That Frey woman...”

“Is my wife no matter what” That silenced the knight for a moment in which Brienne saw the Riverlord taking a deep breath. “They are offering safety for all of us uncle...”

“I’ll die before I surrender.” That silenced the other man, while she saw a frown brewing on Ser Brynden’s face. “You were always too soft hearted you, Edmure, you want to surrender your father’s castle, your family’s lands to those monsters? Fine, but...”

“My lord” Brienne walked over, catching the gaze of both men. Edmure looked her over in surprise, while the Blackfish seemed annoyed. “If I may, are you really throwing your life away?”

“Who are you?”

“A messenger” Brynden Tully answered. “With an empty offer it seemed, the time you had to convince me is over my Lady, no matter what you want now, my nephew has the current proposal.” As if to show what he thought of it he spat on the ground.

She turned to Edmure. “My Lord, I came here with a message from your niece Sansa Stark, asking for help” She delivered her message again, watching his hands shaking as he dazedly took the parchment. “She requests help from her family.”

“I cannot help her” The man answered with a broken voice.

“You can, if you agree to surrender and let me talk to Ser Jaime, he will allow you to march North and assist your niece.” She was not sure such a thing was even possible, but the words stumbled from her mouth all the same.

The Lord's eyes became angry. “I already have everything I could have from the Kingslayer, if you really want me to believe for a second that he would allow such a thing I doubt it.”

“That is what I told her”

Brienne saw her hopes crumbling helpless as she stood before those two. She had no idea what Jaime said to bring Edmure Tully here, but the disdain in his voice was one she was afraid there was no breaking.

“D-don’t trust him then” A voice spoke shyly looking away when he found himself center of attention. “M-my lords, you don’t need to trust him… Y-you just need to live”

“Live?” The Blackfish laughed. “Horseshit, I will die before I negotiate with those murderers.”

“Uncle” Edmure refused to meet their eyes. “I beg you to reconsider, my time is close to end and I won’t change my mind.”

“You have a duty to your people”

“And to my family as well” 

Do your duty. The old king had told her in his last breath. The memory was still bitter for her, the taste like ashes in her mouth and something angry and hurt. She had wanted vengeance so badly. Once that had been her one reason to live, to fill the pain she felt after her king died in her arms. But those thoughts were gone, her vengeance was distant. Even the sword she had made her vows upon, Renly’s sword, it was gone… Jaime gave me a new one...

He gave me a sword and a quest, and in her foolishness she had almost forgotten that.

Her fury had driven her into the wolfswood, her bitterness had carried her under the snow to a battleground and the gods, seeming mockingly, had landed her right in front of Stannis Baratheon, the man whom killed her king with a shadow. A Kinslayer.

She remembered drawing her sword. Jaime’s sword. He called it Oathkeeper. 

Do your duty. Stannis had told her, and she had remembered.

Gods forgive me, but I almost forgot. What sort of Knight would she be, if she forgot her Lady’s daughter, Jaime’s honor and everything else to cut down Stannis Baratheon? Do your duty, and gods, she had turned her back to the man and called Pod to get the horses, asking forgiveness the whole time as she turned back to Winterfell.

Maybe the gods had chosen to reward her choice to not kill Stannis, maybe it was a test, or maybe they had been lucky, Brienne couldn’t tell. Upon turning back to Wintertown, she had been almost confused with the turmoil around. Pod had gone to the village to investigate, under guise of torn clothes and rags, and he was finally able to figure it out.

“Lady Sansa escaped my lady, they are going after her”

And Brienne had followed them, followed the barking of the dogs and the mounts of the men. She followed them and she fought, and she protect Lady Sansa and made her oath yet again. She could still remember pledging her sword, how her heart had beaten fast, and she had been fulfilled. There was none of that when she was about to strike Stannis, there was none of the accomplishment when Lady Sansa had gazed down at her and heed her words.

I did it Jaime. She remembered thinking. I did Lady Catelyn. I will protect her, I swear.

“Ser Brynden” She tried, because she had to, she couldn’t leave this place a failure. “Once I thought just as you do now, my king died in my arms and there was nothing for me but vengeance. I was decided to die if I had to, just so I had the satisfaction of having Stannis’ blood on my sword. It was your niece who stopped me Ser, she took my hands and she told the dead had no use my sword, but I could still fight for the living.” Oathkeeper slid from her scabbard, startling the two men, but she showed them the blade all the same. “This was once Lord Stark’s steel, and now I put it in service of his daughter, his living daughter who still has many fights ahead of her, you can do the same, you can actually help your family now instead of dying an empty selfish death.”

When finished, she waited with baited breath, feeling drained and tired. I’m trying my lady, she said. I’m trying.

“Family, Duty, Honor” Edmure Tully whispered, looking over the garden. “I don’t trust the Kingslayer, but I was given until sunrise to surrender the castle, and today is a black moon.”

Ser Brynden nodded, his eyes seeming ashamed, and yet he spoke loud and clear while Brienne could still hear the whisper of the dead king. Do your duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah one more, hope you guys enjoyed XD


End file.
